


Blackbird

by SlicedFeathers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Acrobatics, Alternate Universe, Angels, Angst, BAMF Castiel, BAMF everyone, Bathing, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Bunker, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Feels, Fluff, Grace - Freeform, Guardian Angel Castiel, Guardian-Ward Relationship, Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I can't decide both are nice, M/M, Nesting, Nesting Castiel, Oil Gland Kink, Rituals, Romance, Self Esteem, Slow Burn, Smut, Supernatural - Freeform, Switching, Thing - Freeform, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Wing Kink, Wingfic, angel rituals, baths, because I cant help myself, castiel is a baby crow with too much feelings, grace baths, im trash, lot of bird puns, marital arts, pretty much a compilation of everything I find enjoyable about fics, rites, so many actually, sorta - Freeform, tai chi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4456319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlicedFeathers/pseuds/SlicedFeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where a human is assigned a guardian angel at a time of great need, Dean Winchester has managed to get to his 20's without ever so needing the help of one of those over glorified chickens. That all changes when a hunt goes sour. Now he is stuck with Castiel, an oddball with strange wings and a questioning stare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello, Dean.

_The first thing Dean Winchester knew was that wherever he was, it was dark, warm, and oddly soothing._

_He should be afraid, he knew that deep down, but the gentle waves of warmth washing over him dissolved any fears the moment they rose up, pacifying them and-_

_**Wait a damn minute.**_

_He could have sworn he was just toe to toe with a ketchup head, being slammed against a wall, grunting against the sudden pressure at his neck, and faintly hearing Sam screaming out as the vampire dove in and--_

_Shh_

_The waves smoothed over his chest and  arms, slow and attentive, bringing him away from the hunt and back to wherever this place was. This place that smelled like salt , patchouli and rain, this place with its soft glowing warmth, its caressing touches and-_

_-But then there was the insistent nagging at the back of his head where-_

**_Wait._ **

_His breathing deepened, panic rising, eyes scrunching in confusion._

_The vamp had **bit** him, his neck, torn out, **bleeding** , he had-_

_An ocean of warmth lulled him back in, whispering gently._

_You are safe now._

_Do not be afraid._

_With a sigh Dean let himself sink into this ocean, let its currents of reassuring words flow through him. What was he getting so worked up for again? Why was he thinking of anything at all when he could let himself drink in the glorious heat filling up his whole body, wrapping itself around his bones, submerging itself into the marrow. Coaxing him into a deep sleep, pulling him down into this cavern, this place- he had- he had never felt so warm, but there was, but, no, **wait** \- there was-_

_With a sharp breath, he jolted out of the water._

                The second thing Dean noticed about his whereabouts was that he recognized it.

 

Quite familiar actually.

 

                He was back in Motel 6 or 7 or whatever, in what appeared to be in its luxurious washing facilities, neck deep in its distinctively yellow stained bathtub.

What was he doing in this piss stained oversized porcelain potty?

"son of a bitch.."

                He clawed at the sides of the tub, trying to pull himself out of the perfectly temperate but still off-putting water. If this was Sam's idea of a joke, that little bitch had it coming once he got out this disease cesspit ASAP. Maybe he would shave that fuckers long locks off or delete all the country songs off his ipod, and _that_ is as far as his plots for revenge went when Dean turned to lift himself out the tub and froze.

                There, [kneeling](http://41.media.tumblr.com/c93910f9a3ef1253bd4833d91b5279af/tumblr_nsa5rhJC5u1utigp7o1_1280.jpg) like a nun in church on the moldy tiles, were two wide blue eyes attached to a man in a trench coat and a backwards tie.

"Hello, Dean."

                He slipped on the edge of the tub and flailed back in, splashing water absolutely everywhere and on everything. Accidentally letting his head submerge beneath the water, he thought _ew, gross, ew,ew,ew_  as he got up and personal on what those stains _really_ were. Bursting out with a gasp, and clawing at the porcelain edge, he slicked back his hair, and turned to look at the intruder of his pissed-stained inner sanctum.

                But before he could get a word in, the now soaked holy tax accountant spoke.

 "I hope you don't mind that I left your undergarments on."

                Dean blinked at the man, and then looked down to find himself completely nude save his now soaked black boxers. (Shit now he would have to burn them) Immediately wrapping his arms around his naked torso, water splashing violently around him. The weirdo, who had apparently undressed him  while he was _unconscious,_ continued.

                "In our studies it is said humans only reveal themselves to those they are close with, so I didn't want to," performing a set of air quotes, his lips twitching as a grin threatened to spread onto his face, " ' _jump the gun'_ in our relations." His wide eyes looked at Dean expectantly, as if he had said something revolutionary, only to be met with silence, bathwater streaking down his face, soaking up his collar, and his coat well passed drenched.

                He then recoiled, pressing his chapped lips together in a way that almost looked.... nervous maybe? Resuming his previously poised, and now soaked position, this psychopath added,

" I do however hope we will be close enough that you will reveal your form to me one day, Dean."

                As if talking about how apparently considerate he was being by observing Deans' right to privacy in his well, um, private parts, wasn't horrifying enough already.

Dean furrowed his brow, shaking his head in disbelief and confusion.

What in the actual name of pecan pie-

"Who the fuck are you and why do you want to see me naked?"

"I am Castiel, an Angel of the lord."

_Shit, shit, fuck._

"Oh, Hell no"

"Oh, I assure you, Hell has nothing to do with this."

                Dean sank back underneath the piss stained water and promptly tried to drown himself, hearing muffled calls of

_"Dean? Dean are you alright?"_

 

_\----_

"I was dead."

"Well, not quite, but almost."

"No, I am pretty sure I  _died_."

                Here he was, half naked in a bathtub, arguing over the state of his mortality with this creep, no this   _Angel_  (even worse), who was slowly turning into a water stain on the motel floor.

"No, Dean," The angel leaned in, "I found you, gripped you tight, and raised you from perdition."

That might have been an over exaggeration.

                This creep, this  _Castiel_ , practically beamed with pride, as he got up off his knees and moved to the peeling cabinet on the wall, the belt of his trench coat falling to the side screeching along the tiles as it dragged.

 Dean couldn't comprehend this, couldn't he just be dead instead, please?

"No, you didn't."

                Opening the cabinets doors, eyes flickering back and forth between the shelves.

"Yes,  I did."

                Dean watched him as he rummaged through its contents, grabbing two or three things and returning to his prior kneeling position by the tub.

"No, you  _really_  didn't."

"Dean, I assure you, I  _did_ , as an angel of the lord I-"

"No freaking way, I am a hunter,  _a hunter,_  you know what that means don't you?"

                The Angel titled his head, brows furrowed in confusion, then turned his attention to the objects in his hands.

                "It means,  **I don't need an angel** ," Dean called, leaning out of the tub to face Castiel, waving a finger in his face, "so go be someone else's chicken, I don't want anything to do with you."

 

Silence as the Angel continued to fumble with whatever it was he was so focused on.

 

"Hey, are you even listening I-"

                Then Castiel looked up, his eyes burning with something that could either pass as intense concentration or fury, their faces suddenly very close, feeling little puffs of breath ghosting over him.

 

                "I assure you that I am no part poultry."

 

                Okay, Dean thought, swallowing hard, these  _were_  celestial beings, maybe it would be best if he didn't piss it off just yet, maybe when he had actual pants on, that would be great.

Castiels' hands went up to grab at Deans damp hair.

                Dean froze in place, green eyes wide, as the hands that were totally invading his personal space moved back and forth, fingers scratching against his scalp, and the light scent of pineapples began to permeate the air.

Was an Angel of the Lord washing his hair with girly-girl-princess Sammy Sam's $30 shampoo?

"What are you doing?"

"Cleansing your hair follicles."

"Why?"

"They are matted with brain matter and blood."

"No, I mean why in God's name are you washing me like a baby bird with Sam's' overly priced crap?"

                Castiel continued gently rubbing at Deans' scalp, working the lather in with parted lips, moving his fingers carefully, like this was the most important task that had ever been set forth for him, removing vamp brains from his hair like a sleepover from hell.

Sounds like a bad porno.

                Dean smacked his hands away, the Angel letting out a small gasp as he moved back, raised hands dripping pink soapy spots onto his coat.

"Would you stop touching me and just go away already!"

"I-I don't understand."

"Hmm, and what's that sugar?"

"No, it is soap."

                The next 10 seconds were a blur of Dean cursing, and yelling, shooing the Angel out the door and slamming it shut, slipping ass first onto the wet hard tile, hearing a  _Dean! are you sure you do not require assistance?_

_Fuck man._

_Just, fuck._

 

 

 


	2. A Profound Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Dean is having none of it, Sam is a fangirl-boy, or whatever, and Castiel is a stubborn little birdie.

Castiel feared deeply he had erred.

                Hearing the door slam shut behind him, and the sudden crash pushed him into a panic.

"Dean? Are you sure you do not require assistance?"

                He heard a slew of mumbled curse words on the other side of the blasted piece of human creation.

Castiel decided he did not like doors.

                Biting his lower lip, he wondered where he had gone wrong. What had he done that his charge had shut him out already?

                He pulled out a black notebook from his coat pocket, flipping the worn pages to where he had written out instructions, and scanning the list. He had followed them to the last word, he was certain of it, but surely he had done something wrong for Dean to kick him out. Perhaps the temperature was not right or-

**Ka-*click***

"Who the **hell** are you?"

                Castiel turned around to find a large human holding a revolver to his temple.

                Perhaps this was a greeting ritual he was not accustomed with? But remembering his brothers words at being polite above all things, he spoke,

"Hello, I am Castiel."

" **Where's my brother?** " The man threatened, pushing the tip of the gun harder against Castiel's forehead.

Taking a step forward,

"There is no need to be afrai-"

**BANG**

               

                Castiel's body jolted back, red haloing him on the paisly wallpaper behind him.

                He gasped slightly, feeling a hole in the center of his face, and an itch somewhere deep within his skull. He called on his grace to push the bullet, blood trickling as the metal piece emerged from his skin and falling to the dirty carpet with a _clink_.

He had not read anything like this in _Human Greeting: Making Acquaintance_.

 "This is a strange greeting."

                The man gasped as Dean burst out of the bathroom, still in his boxers and forming a puddle beneath him.

"Sam! what's going on-" Then turning to see Castiel leaning against the wall, the wound on his head slowly healing.

"Dean, I- I shot him but-"

" _Sam_."

"Yes, Dean"

"Did you just shoot an _Angel_ of the lord at point blank range in the face?"

With a terrified look, Sam pulled at his hair and started to pace back and forth.

"Oh my _god_ , I mean- fuck- wait-uh. **Shit** "

\---

                Dean sat on the motel bed, head heavy in his hands.

 Sam bounced  around the room acting damn gleeful over the flying rat in the room.

                After accidently shooting the Angel in the face( "I am unharmed, do not fret") and apologizing profusely  ("Oh god, I'm so sorry, do I lose God points or something?") Sam started practically worshiping the guy.

_Damn Angel Syndrome_ , he thought.

                Castiel stood in the center, head moving back and forth following Sam as he spoke a mile a minute, eyes wide and looking vaguely perturbed as Sam made a motion to grab Castiels hands in an attempt to shake them. Castiel looked petrified as Sam's large frame and eager face honed in on him.

                That is when the Angel decided to notice Dean, maneuvering himself away from Sam's grasp just in time and quickly moving  in on Dean's personal space. Dean leaned against his forearms, trying not to fall backwards on the bed as Castiel peered over him hawk-like.

"Dean, are you alright? Why did you not let me assist you? Was the bath not to your liking?"

"Whoa, could ya back the hell up" Dean motioned for him to move back.

                "Dean!" Sam gave him a disapproving face that said _this is a freaking angel. **Angel.** Stop being a heathen and show some damn respect, you plaid loving bastard. _ As if Sam had not literally _just_ shot Castiel in the _face._

The Angels eyes dotted over Dean.

"Oh yes, my apologies." but only moving back a s _ingle_ damn step.

"Dean I would like to know what error I made concerning the Grace Bath so that I may improve it to your liking."

"That was _you_ that put me in there! Didn't you see it was disgusting and stained with questionable- wait _Grace_ Baths? you telling me you spiked the water with your _spunk_?!"

"My...spunk?"

Castiel had no idea what 'spunk' meant and was not certain he owned any.

Dean nodded.

"Your grace, birdbrain."

                The Angel widened his eyes, looking down. Anxiety slowly clouding over him. Did Dean not enjoy his grace? It had been hard to pull and push at it to infuse it within the water. Was it not pleasant? All that he had read said that his grace was an integral part of establishing the bond between Angel and Charge, and if Dean did not enjoy it...

No, he would do better, he would not fail, not with this.

"...was there anything that you enjoyed?" Asking in a hopeful voice.

"Um, it was a good temperature, I guess..." scrunching his face into a shape that said _what the fuck?_

                The Angel smiled widely and took this information very seriously, pulling out his book, taking note of what Dean had said.

_Temperature was good, Dean, our charge, guesses._

He had gotten something right after all.

"Wait, why were you giving me a grace bath?"

"Because Dean," Sam began, his face glowing with humor.

"You have an angel!"

Sam then erupted in a fit of laughter.

Castiel's' pen froze against the page, not registering Sam's' laughter but his words.

He was _Dean's_ Angel.

He felt a small chill fall down his spine, He was so excited.

 

Dean, not so much.

 

"I don't have _anything,_ Sam."

"Were you really _that_ afraid of a bunch of vamps you actually called for help-"

"Shut your pie hole" Dean growled, "Caleb was _just_ **leaving** , right Caleb?"

Castiel's heart tightened as Sam's laughter turned into a cackle.

"It is Castiel."

"Whatever, listen I don't need-"

"Dean, this is awesome," Sam laughed "Castiel you are awesome."

Pocketing the notebook, he furrowed his brows,

"But I did not do anything..?"

 

\---

No damn way was this an actual possibility.

                He did **not** manage to make it to 22 without one of those feathered beak-heads trailing behind him every moment to have it ruined over a _tiny_ slip up, on a routine vampire hunt no less.

                Running a hand over his face, Dean groaned.

Insane, this was bullshit.

                Maybe because it was just a tiny situation this _Angel_ , (Caleb was it? Cassidy?) would strap his wings on and be off. Dean wouldn't have to deal with all the connotations of what it actually _meant_ when an Angel saved a human life, which he still doubted immensely. The guy had looked determined sure, but _really_? Dean Winchester, the single greatest hunter to ever hunt, saved by a Birdbrain?

No way in Hell.

 

"Cable-el-el, or whatever, get your feathered ass out of here."

 

                They were in the Impala on their way back to the bunker. He had ran to the car, dragging Sam's stupid laughing face by the ear, thinking if he was fast enough he'd lose the tail feathered freak. Hitting the gas and speeding out of the lot, he made it about ten seconds on the road when he heard a flap of feathers and a _Hello Dean_ from the backseat.

"Dude, it's Castiel." Sam chastised, mesmerized by how the Angel had managed to damn near teleport into a moving vehicle.

"Okay, _Cas-ti-el_ , **leave**."

Castiel looked at Dean, cocking his head to the side from his place in the back seat.

"I do not understand."

Dean looked at him through the overhead mirror.

"What the word _leave_?"

 "When an Angel saves a human a profound bond is formed, you must need me."

"Are you even a real angel? Where are your wings?"

                Dean heard the squeak of the Impala's leather as Castiel stiffened slightly.

                Most angels kept their wings out, letting others know of their status as a celestial wavelength of intent. It was one of the things that irritated Dean about angels the most. Walking around with their puffy perfect white clouds on their back, proud like a peacock, but with none of the colors. Acting so _pure_ and _righteous._ People (like Sam), practically fell over themselves in the presence of the bleached out wings.  So where was this birdbrains chicken wings? Where was his haughty attitude?

"I...prefer to blend in."

                Dean raised his eyebrows, that was... not the answer he was expecting, but before he could further investigate Sam interjected.

"Of course he's an angel Dean, did you _see_ how he took that bullet! Amazing!"

Where the hell did Sam's guilt over shooting the celestial-cockatoo go?

"Yeah well," Dean's hold of the wheel tightened, the leather squeaking. "I don't need amazing."

 

                Dean suddenly felt a pair of eyes boring themselves in the back of his skull.

He then felt _something_.

_Something_ stirring inside his veins, _something_ pushing and pulling at his thoughts, and what the hell was going on-

_Oh fuck no._

Castiel was observing him.

 

"Hey! **_Hey_**! Stop that- "

"Dean, why are you distressed? Your heart rate is elevated and your stress hormone levels are raised. Is there anything that you require?"

Oh god, **no.**

                Dean then proceeded to quickly pull the car over in the middle of the interstate, the tires screeching as Sam and Castiel slammed against their seats from the force, and smacked his head against the steering wheel groaning in frustration.

He then turned around to lean over the seat to face Castiel.

"Dean?"

"Can you cut the caretaker crap?"

Castiel looked down at his hands, pulling at the sleeves of his trench coat.

"Listen, I, um" Dean began.

_Damn it._

"Look, Caleb-"

"Castiel."

"Right, Castiel," Dean continued, "I _appreciate_ what you did for me back there and all, but there has been a mistake." Castiel looked up at Dean, eyes piercing, and he still couldn't tell whether it was from fury, determination or maybe both.  "I don't have any need for an angel, so why don't you go back to playing hopscotch in the ozone layer?"

                Dean saw something flash over the Angel's eyes, too quickly to be distinguished but it was there.

"I've been assigned so you must need me."

                The Angel said stubbornly with purpose, as if he said the words with enough power Dean would become convinced.

Dean slid down  into his seat covering his face with his palms.

"You aren't going to go away are you?"

"I was quite looking forward to this actually."

Dean jolted up, grabbing the stick shift and put the car into drive.

"Son of a bitch."

\---

                The Impala's tires smoothed over the pavement as Dean parked the car. 

                The ride back had been hell, with Castiel's probing eyes ("I said, stop it, Caleb" "Castiel" "whatever") and Sam's barely contained, and not subtle at _all_ , laughter underneath his breath as Castiel kept asking whether or not Dean required one odd thing or another. At one point he  had disappeared, ("Finally.") only to return with a Biggersons burger and Milkshake, ("Dean, I sensed that you require sustenance") which Dean promptly chucked out the window.

                He was barely holding it together.

 

Dean needed a freaking drink.

 

                Stepping out of the car, the Impala's doors squeaking as they closed, Dean let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Sam made his way to the trunk of the car, collecting their duffle bags and what not, when he turned to walk towards the bunker, and was met face to face with the blue-eyed birdbrain.

"Jesus, don't do that."

"Dean, why have we stopped?" Castiel asked.

Sam called out, closing the trunk door. "Because we're at the bunker."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, his irritation rising.

Deep breaths.

"Bunker?"

Sam smiled as he adjusted the bags straps over his shoulders.

"Our home."

Castiel turned his head to the side questioningly.

"A home...is it like a nest?"

                Sam laughed, slapping his hand over Castiel's shoulder, causing the Angel to stiffen oddly underneath the touch.

"Come on in, we'll show you-"

**"No."**

"No, _what_ Dean?"         

"No, _that_."

Sam tightened his grip on the bag straps.

"Dean-"

"No Sam. _It,"_ Dean said gruffly, pointing a finger at Castiel." is **not** welcomed."

"Dean, don't be ridiculous, _He_ is your ang-"

" _He_ isn't anything to me."

                Castiel fingered the sleeves of his trench coat, eyes flittering back and forth between Sam and Dean, looking at a loss of what to say or do.

" He is _not_ coming into the bunker, and that's final."

                The air was tense with frustration and anger as Sam dropped the bags on the asphalt and quickly headed over to argue with Dean. Was he _serious_ right now? Sure, the situation wasn't _ideal,_ sure, but to shut the Angel out that was-

 

"I will just wait here then."

 

                Dean and Sam turned to Castiel, who had dropped his hands to his side, chin up, assuming the posture of a soldier.

"Is that so?" Dean challenged.

"Yes," The Angel nodded. "A....bunker would be too confining anyway."

_Ah,_

There it was.

The Celestial- _I-am-better-than-you_ -ness Dean knew was lurking beneath that ill-fitting suit.

He ran up to Castiel, grabbing him roughly by the trench coat.

"What, our bunker not good enough for you, _Angel?_ Not the right PH balance in the air or something, for our _sensitive little birdie_?"

"I- I did not mean to upset you, I merely thought-"

  
"Dean, I thought you didn't want him anywhere near-"

"Shut up Sam, that doesn't mean I have to hear _Polly_ over here talking about how it isn't good enough for an angel!"

                Castiel said nothing, looking at Dean with the wide stare again. Dean scoffed and pushed the angel back away from him.

"I don't care what you do, it is **_you_** who aren't good enough for the bunker, **you** are not **ever** coming in, and **you are certainly not _my angel_.** So go wherever you **_white doves_** go, and find someone else to bother."

                With that, Dean marched his way up to the Bunker's entrance, putting in the key and slamming the metal door shut. The sound of it resonated in the open air around them.

                Sam looked at Castiel's hard face, noticing how although he showed no expression, his shoulders trembled slightly as he stared at the asphalt in front of him.

As if trying to contain something inside.

"Listen, Castiel, I'll have a talk with him. He will come around eventually, you're just trying to do your job, and I get that so don't worry I know Dean, He will-"

Castiel looked up at Sam, mouth a hard line and eyes steady.

"If it is what Dean wishes, I shall wait here. Regardless of how he feels, I've been assigned. **He must need me.** "

                It was meant to come out as a stubborn resolve, but Sam thought it sounded more like Castiel was trying to convince himself.

"Yeah, of course."

"If you require my assistance I shall be here."

                Sam walked towards the door, turning around before he sealed the bunker shut, to see Castiel looking up at the setting sky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next couple chapters will be more of what is going on from Castiels POV, and explaining more of the angel guardian type thing that is going on here. 
> 
> See yall soon.


	3. A last resort is better than none

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is one naive BAMF.

 

 

 

Today was the best day of Castiel's entire existence.

 

 

                He had competed the flying obstacle course with a new record breaking time. Beating Uriel and placing himself as the current fastest flyer in all of heaven.

 

                He even earned a few (albeit half hearted) claps.

 

                He finally managed to perform his double aerial and plunged his angel blade deep into a nimbus-cloud dummy without stumbling even _once_ today in practice. And when the angel Samandriel had seen Castiel's feat, and accompanying smile, he had challenged him to a duel.

 

                Castiel's heart beat against his chest in excitement and anticipation. To fight a _real_ angel, and not just a manifestation of condensed water and grace? He had fought _hard_ , knocking Samandriel down a few ozone layers.

 

                Zachariah, the instructor, had even praised him. Whispering underneath his breath "Nice going, _Crow_ "  as he passed Castiel to collect Samandriel from the lower stratosphere, muttering it low enough so that only Castiel could hear.

 

A whisper just for him.

 

                He had preened underneath the attention, holding his wings tight to his sides to contain himself, urging the feathers not to puff up in glee as his right wing twitched up against his wishes, fighting a small smile.

 

                He even got a piece of cake from the canteen as _heavens fastest flyer,_ finally making it to the dessert lineafter years of being cut in front of. This was his second piece of cake in all these thousands of years, the first being before his coming of age ceremony, and there were only so many times you can relive a memory before it becomes tasteless.

 

It was vanilla flavored with half melted whipped cream and a sliver of a strawberry.

 

It was _delectable._

 

Today was undoubtedly the **best** day of his life.

 

 

But it was **not** a good day for humans.

 

                The entire garrison was booked, their human charges calling out for help with one small thing or another. A fire here, a babysitter needed here. His brothers and sisters launched themselves off the edge of heaven in an array of blue and white, and to those that didn't know better they would assume the sky was falling.

 

                Castiel liked to poke a hole in one of the thinner clouds and watch as his brothers and sisters turned the sky a shade brighter with the light of their grace. Castiel lifted his hand, tugging at the sleeves of his white button down to rest at his inner elbows. He called upon his grace as he formed a small glowing ball of blue energy, wrapping it around his fingers and weaving Enochian symbols in the air.

 

Thinking to himself,

 

His grace was blue just as any other Angels, but he was still not permitted to assist the humans. He was the top student of all Human Relations classes, having memorized every image, every word. He liked to think that he knew all there was to know.

 

And yet, he had never gotten a chance to use this knowledge.

                               

                He desperately wanted to be of use, and seeing his garrison from the clouds, helping, and affecting actual human _lives,_ made him feel, that despite all his hard training, that no matter what score he received on their Language exams, _they_ were the ones making a difference, _they_ were the _real_ angels.

Castiel knew he was _no_ angel, but regardless, He prayed to be useful one day.

 

He prayed so hard that sometimes his voice would start to give out, prayed that things could be different, prayed that someone out there would need him, prayed that-

 

 

Castiel's prayers stilled as Michael, God's first Archangel, ran out amongst the clouds searching.

 

"Urgent situation! We need an angel sent down **_immediately_**! Anna!"

 

 

"Anna?!"

 

                Castiel stood from his place in the clouds, walking up and behind Michael who was frantically calling out for the red headed angel.

 

"U-uh, " Castiel muttered out, he always got nervous when speaking to the Archangel, squeezing his wings tight to his side, trying to make himself appear smaller than he already was.

 

Michael turned to face Castiel, an irritated look befalling his face, his pristine white wings twitching with annoyance.

 

"I don't have time for this right now Castiel, where is Anna?"

 

"S-she is fixing a fisherman's ship before the crew and passengers sink."

 

"Samandreel?"

 

"Healing a hamster of blindness"

 

"Gadreel?"

 

"Assisting a young woman with her studies in Spanish, she has a very important test tomorrow, as so I have heard."

 

"Is there really not a _single_ angel here!" Michaels voice boomed out over the clouds of heaven, white wings spread wide above him, flight feathers sharp.

 

 

"Can it really be that everyone in heaven is otherwise occupied? Damn."

 

"If I may ask, what is it Michael?"

 

"A human, He is going to die."

 

"What?! We must help him!"

 

"Castiel, what would you have me _do_? There is no angel available, it is unfortunate, but that is what his fate holds, I suppose."

 

                Castiel's heart leaped in his chest. Die? The Garrison had not let a call go unanswered for over 2,000 years, and now, hearing  Michael say that they were now, after _years_ of faithfully answering every human no matter what the instance, going to just let this human, who had called upon _them_ for _help_ , die?

 

"Send me."

 

"Cas _tiel_."

 

"Brother, I am the fastest flyer in all of heaven, I have trained for millennia, I have studied all there is to know on human kind. I can do this. Please, please let me be of some use."

 

"Castiel, you **know** why I cannot send you."

 

He flinched at the words.

 

Yes he **did** know, but still.

 

" _Please_ Michael, he is going to perish, I know that I am not ideal, but the human will not likely care after he survives."

 

"Castiel, you dare argue with an Archangel?" Michael began, wings rising over him dominantly, ready to force Castiel to stand down, when he faltered. Listening.

 

_Please, help me._

 

**Damn _._** Michael thought.

 

                He could not willing let a human die, not while hearing his pleas for help ringing in his ears, not when Little Castiel was here, able bodied and well trained regardless of his _condition._ He himself couldn't go, he was required in Heaven full time, no exceptions. Saving humans were what the other angels were for. He had waited long enough, he only hoped there was still time for the man to be saved.

 

                He made his decision, he only hope that the Wrath of God would not befall him and make him regret it.

 

"You may rescue him."

 

Castiel smiled widely, wings flapping  in excitement that he could not contain.

  
"But, you will **not** reveal yourself, under any circumstance, is that understood?"

 

Castiel immediately snapped his wings to his side, trying to keep them still as possible as he nodded.

 

"You will keep your-, well you will keep _them_ hidden. We cannot have word of this getting out to the other humans, that you are-"

 

"I understand, Brother."

 

Michael cringed a bit, he really did not want to damn this human to this angel, but what choice did he have?

 

                "He will be your charge after this, you do comprehend this Castiel? Saving a humans life differs from that of giving the gift of sight to a pet rat or helping one pass a test. He will be under your protection for all of his existence, bounded. You will be responsible for his well being. If I send you, you will not return to the Garden of Heaven till his soul rises up."

 

                Castiel felt a wave of anxiety hit him. What had he expected? He knew what saving a humans life meant, but this was- this was _Heaven._ The only place he ever knew. This was where he built his first nest , where his brothers and sisters were, but Castiel also knew that this was his _one_ chance, his one **big** chance to prove himself to the Garrison.

 

This was his chance to be a real angel, he was not a blind rodent, his prayers, they were being answered.

 

_I am needed, needed by this human._

 

                And that gave Castiel all the courage he needed to leave the only home he ever knew for an uncertain future with a human he did not yet even know the name of.

 

"I know, I will do my best to honor Heaven."

 

"Go collect your things, and meet me at the station."

 

                Castiel flew back to his nest that resided in a far corner of Heaven's vast clouds. Pulling out from the pile of feathers his angel blade, a black notebook, and a pen. He then noticed something strange in the corner of his nest, something very tan.

 

A coat.

 

A trench coat to be exact.

 

                No one knew where his nest was, not even Michael, whoever had left this coat, Castiel knew, meant for him to wear it, and he did not have the time to figure out who.

 

                Picking up the coat, and smoothing his fingers over the soft cotton, he unfolded it and put it on.

 

A perfect fit.

 

"Thank you." He whispered, hoping his gratitude could be felt.

 

                Castiel flew back to where Michael waited at the launching station, giving him a single nod. He walked to the edge of the cloud and peered down at the vast world below, a swirl of blue and green dotted with the light of civilization.

 

                Feeling slightly motion sick, he turned to Michael who pressed two cold fingers to his temple, the only touch Castiel ever would know from him, and suddenly he knew all he needed.

 

                Feeling the wind billow beneath his trench coat, Castiel peered over the nimbus and cumulus clouds, spread his wings wide for the first time and became a falling star.

 

 

                                                                                                                ---

 

                When Castiel found Dean Winchester it was a moment of many firsts for him.

 

                First the smell of human blood hit him, and the tangy smell of metal and iron, made him decide immediately that he did not care for it.

 

                Second was the air, it was _thick_.

 

                Thick with smells, feelings, auras, histories, all crashing down on him wave after wave. He could feel this moment, the one prior, and the ones spanning back hundreds of years. When this land was not a warehouse, but open farm land where a horse named Speedy was shot and killed by the landowner. Next was the soil and its minerals, pulsing along the Earth's crust as miners first pulled oil from the ground. Then it was the sound and heat of steel being forged and twisted to create the frame for the building he was standing in right now.

               

                It disoriented him, trying to find the right place in time where he needed to be.

 

                And when he finally found Dean, neck muscles being torn to bits by a vampire. He could feel Dean's consciousness fading, hearing the faint calls from his soul.

 

_Help_

 

And now it was his first real fight.

                Castiel rushed forwards, tensing his hands into a claw shape as he grabbed at the back of the vampires head, pulling him off Dean, hearing a succulent _slurp_ as the monsters mouth was torn from the humans neck. Bit of freckled flesh still being chewed. Dean dropped to the floor, eyes fluttering open and closed, fighting to stay awake. He needed to get to Dean **now** , or else he wasn't going to make it.

 

But he needed to deal with the blood sucker first.

 

                The Vampire was caught off guard, snarling as he pulled himself out of the Angels grasp. Facing him with a red smile and dark eyes, he charged at Castiel. The Angel maneuvered out of the way, digging his fingers into the bicep of the arm that swung out into the empty space. He crushed the bones with a satisfying snap, the monster calling out, and suddenly it wasn't just them two. The room filled up with vampires, snarling and chuckling to one another.

 

"So they sent a little birdie to deal with the bad guys, well _Angel,_ they were wrong to send _you_."

 

That one statement ignited a fire within Castiel.

 

He would **not** fail.

 

Getting into his fighting mindset, Castiel called upon his training.

 

Deep breaths and focused movements.

 

                Ripping his hand into the face of Dean's attacker, Castiel raked his fingers, hooking onto his mouth and jaw and pulling downwards, effectively tearing off the monsters bottom jaw clean off his skull. Pulling out his Angel Blade from the sleeve of his coat, he tossed the bleeding body into the air, loose skin flapping about,  jumping up after him and slicing what was left of his head clean off his body.  The tainted blood splattered everywhere, Castiel's eyes pierced through the red painting his face.

 

Dean groaned behind him, breath stuttering.

 

He would need to be quick, Heaven's fastest flyer meant _nothing_ if he could not save Dean.

 

                The other vampires lunged at him all at once, hoping to overwhelm him, but Castiel flew up and above them. Trench coat flapping behind him as he flipped through the air, landing behind one of the more shorter vampires, clutching at his throat, nails beginning to tear at the wind pipe as he took his blade and lacerated its throat with a _riiiiip._

 

He quite liked the feeling and finesse of this coat.

 

Dean sputtered out softly, coughing up blood, for someone named Sam.

 

Okay, Castiel,   _focus_.

 

There were four left now.

 

                The female vampire laughed as she charged at him, hands grasping at his waist as she pushed him against the wall. Her hands digging into his abdomen, pressing against his organs. He grunted as the sharp metal protruding the concrete walls pierced through him. He had dropped his blade, damn it.

 

Rule #1 of Sparring Practice had been **not** to drop the blade.

 

C'mon Castiel, you can do this.

 

                Forming a fist, he timed eight strikes to the woman's face, her head bopping back and forth in disfigured grunts. Positioning his palm underneath the nose bone, he forcefully pushed upwards, snapping it and pushing the now jagged piece of bone up to stab her frontal lobe. She went cross-eyed as she fell back. Pushing his palms flat against the wall, he pulled himself off the wall and the metal that impaled him with a grunt. Picking up his blade off the floor, he sliced her head off clean. It made a satisfying _thump_ against the concrete.

 

He heard someone down the hallway calling out a frantic "Dean!"

 

Three to go.

 

                Taking a deep breath, Castiel shot an elbow upwards into the Vampire trying to flag him from his left, using his right hand to strike his palm against his jaw. Hooking the finger once more amongst the bared teeth, going to rip the jaw off once more. But the vampire bit down, trapping Castiel's fingers and hand within his mouth, fangs digging deep into his flesh. Blood was pouring from his hand and soaking up Castiel's new coat, turning the tan into a muddy burgundy.

 

He usually wasn't so attached to things so easily, but this was unforgivable.

 

                Castiel then hooked the digits the best he could, feeling the tongue and saliva slicking up his fingers, and pulled within. Blood splattered everywhere as he brought out two sets of teeth, one human, one vampire, from the attackers mouth. The vampires tried to say something but it came out as a gargle, his useless tongue flapping in his bloody mouth. Castiel took his blade and with a swooping motion, the vampires head rolled down to meet the woman's.

 

He could hear Dean's breath slowing down almost to a standstill.

 

Two left.

 

He _needs_ you, **hurry.**

 

The two ran at him from both sides, and at the last moment Castiel flew up, taking his blade and impaling it straight through both their skulls as the two crashed into one another. The blade making its way through the left ones cheekbone with a crack. Pulling the blade out sharply, he held them by the hair as he brought his hand down with one swift motion.

 

The heads bounced as the fell, the bodies thumping unceremoniously to the concrete, spilling out dark tainted blood.

 

It was done.

 

Dean gasped behind him.

 

Castiel ran to him, placing two fingers to his temple and calling upon his grace.

 

_No, no, no._

Dean's heart was barely beating.

 

                He willed his grace to move faster, wrapping it around Dean's cell structures, yelling at the mitochondria to move and heal.

 

He could feel how cold Dean was through the connection.

 

                As his grace worked, Castiel took his blade, slicing a fine line against his wrist. Taking the blood onto his fingers he drew a sigil over Dean's forehead, and pressed his fingers down against it. Giving Dean a harsh shot of his grace, shocking the cells into even more of an overdrive, he watched as Dean's throat healed. The vocal chords restringing themselves, the larynx no longer collapsed, the delicate veins and capillaries weaving together in a cross-work pattern of blue and red, to form the freckled skin covering his neck.

 

Dean breathed in deeply.

 

Dean Winchester was saved.

 

 

"Dean! where are you!?"

 

                The voice from the hallway sounded much closer, he needed to get Dean out of here before more vampires showed up.  But where? Where could he take him?

 

Maybe Dean knew.

 

Castiel extended his grace once more and carded through Dean's mind, finding a flash of a key.

 

A key that belonged to Motel 7, Room 217.

 

Castiel raised Dean up from the floor, gripped him tight, and flew.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we know how Dean got saved!
> 
> I like to think Castiel would be a very acrobatic fighter, well trained in martial arts and what not. Lots of flowing trenchcoat feels, and badassary. 
> 
> Maybe he also like Tai chi.
> 
> I hope the fighting scene was alright, I'm not too well versed with that style of writing, any constructive feed back would be awesome.


	4. The Bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Trenchcoat are my OTP.

                Landing in the motel, Castiel placed Dean down gently on the paisley sheets of the bed.

                He quickly scanned the room for potential threats. Practically pulling the closet doors off their handles, opening up the drawers of the dressers with such force he splintered the wood. He was unfamiliar with such places, and with his mind still set in fighter mode, he felt danger could lurk anywhere. But upon seeing that the most present threat wasn't all that threatening, (he could leave be a mouse living underneath the couch) he relaxed some, turning his attention back to Dean.

                His breaths were pure and even now, but he was still unconscious. Castiel worried his lips between his teeth and stood close by the bed, looking over him.  He should have woken up by now, the booster shot of grace he had given him should have ensured that.

                However Dean _had_ been greatly injured, tapering on the thread between life and death like an untrained trapeze artist. Castiel supposed, grace aside, that was enough to render a human out.

                He then heard a faint pitter patter beneath him. His coat was dripping tainted blood, turning the swirling patterns of the dirty carpet underneath him into a soggy mahogany. This would not do. If Dean woke up and saw Castiel as he was now, covered head to toe in murder, he might not be so well received.

                With a snap and pull of his grace Castiel vaporized the blood, returning his coat and self into its usual condition. He then looked back at Dean, who regardless of being healed, looked completely wrecked. His plaid shirt torn, jeans stained, and hair matted with blood and God knows what else.

                Castiel pushed at his grace once again to weave the cotton fibers of Dean's clothes back into a shiny and pristine condition, looking better than they probably had in years.

                Listening to the rise and fall of Dean's chest, Castiel contemplated on his new situation.

So Dean was Castiel's human, this was **it** , they were _bonded_ now.

                Castiel felt a wave of excitement befall him. This was his chance to be a _real_ angel, to have purpose, and to matter to this human. He had _already_ saved him, and Castiel let a small sense of pride and happiness fill him.  His first task and he had done well.

He was someone's Guardian Angel.

                He could not, would not fail. Michael had trusted him to be able to do this, and that meant everything to Castiel. It was the first amount of faith anyone had shown in him, no matter how small it was. Castiel smiled wildly. Not many angels became guardians because of the specific criteria that needed to be met. Saving a human form the brink of death did not always go according to plan, and Castiel felt a pride swell from within him. Being a Guardian Angel was not an easy task, and he had done, he had saved Dean.

 Thinking on all the responsibilities that now be held him. He would have to take care of Dean's wellbeing, ensure his needs were met and exceeded. Castiel wanted and needed to do a perfect job.            But Castiel let another thought bubble up, one from deep down in the depths of his mind he dared not go.

This was his chance to be close to another living being.

He felt a wave of anxiety tear over his excitement, ripping it to shreds.

What if Dean did not like him?

His own family _barely_ tolerated him.

                What was Castiel supposed to do then? He knew in theory of course, but he had _just_ saved Dean. Was a bond formed just like that? Instantly? Would Dean even remember?

What if Dean could sense that Castiel was _different._

Castiel paced back and forth before remembering _Angels_ did not pace.

Would he reject him?

                Castiel hunched over, wrapping his arms around himself, chin tucked into his chest, eyes shut. Feeling his heart beginning to hammer against his ribcage.

_Not that, anything but **that.**_

                Castiel clawed his fingers into the trench coat, breathing becoming shallow and fast, feeling the cotton fibers catching against his fingerprints.

The trench coat.

Castiel looked up, eyes wide.

The damn **coat,** he thought.

                This _coat_ that had appeared out of nowhere beneath the echoes of Dean's call for help, this _coat_ that fit his frame perfectly, this _coat_ that had billowed behind him as he fought, that had soaked up his blood, Dean's blood and the blood of his enemies, **no,** _their_ enemies. This _coat_ that was infused with all it had taken to save Dean's life.

This _coat_ that had survived, this **coat** that was stained with his success.

He knew no matter how hard anyone tried, the memory could not be removed by any means. He knew that any Angel in all of eternity who would touch the coat would be flooded by the sense of Castiel's victory.

By **_his_** coat.

Dean had _needed_ him. He had _fought_ for him, **bled** for him.

                There was simply no possibility that Dean would push him away, not when he had this coat that proved his worth.

                His anxiety bleeding away into a headstrong resolve.

                And even _if_ Dean did try to push him away, he would be steady and strong. He would do everything in his power to ensure that Dean would find him as an asset, as a individual that he wanted to form a strong bond with.

                Castiel stood tall, looking towards Dean resting on the bed, and for the first time really _looked_ at his charge.

                Dean was a strong human, he could see that from the way his muscles filled out his shirt. He could see Dean was hardworking, the calluses on his hands a testament to that. He could see his soft golden hair, his freckled skin, and then Castiel dared to search the soul that had called out to heaven and found that it was blinding.

He wanted to start as soon as possible, prove himself useful to his charge.

But _how_?

                There hadn't been much on Guardian Angels in their training, it was more focused on helping as many humans as possible in a short amount of time, rather than one for the rest of their life. It wasn't as if Dean was going to be in constant peril, so what could he do _now_?

Dean snored lightly.

                There were no Michael's to tell him what to do, ("No, Crow, that isn't right" "Please just leave it to another Angel") and he couldn't exactly  call upon him for help in the first hour of his new duty.

That would be bad form.

Castiel thought hard.

                He also desperately wanted to make a good impression on Dean, to form a bond so strong that all of Heaven would speak of it. (Okay, Castiel, let's take a step back for a moment).  Right, he shouldn't get too far ahead of himself, getting Dean to like him should be the first step, proving himself to Heaven could wait.

                He searched through his black notebook for anything he could do to help promote the bond, remembering vaguely of a dusty book he had found in the back of Heaven's Library.  

Yes, he remembered how he had dusted the cover off, peeling back the first page, the books spine crackling from lack of use. He remembered his wonder as he read the fading words.

_Angelic-Human Rites and Rituals_

                At the time, Castiel had been curious, flipping through the yellowed pages reading about how Human and Angelic kind had interacted from the beginning of time.  

                He also remembered the ache in his chest as he read the various things that humans and angels did, from building houses, to bathing one another, to even helping an Angel through their molts. He had clutched the book to his chest, the dust staining his white button down black and grey, thinking and imagining what it would be like to be so close with someone.

To have no boundaries.

He had written every single thing, word for word, in his notebook.

                What better thing to fall back on then what Angels and Humans have been doing since their creation? Castiel had made up his mind, if this wasn't a sure fire way to get Dean to like him, to form a profound bond, he didn't know what was.

               

                He should probably wait for Dean to wake up first to ask if that was something he would even be interested in.

 

He stared at Dean, leaning in closely, willing him to wake.

No Castiel, have patience, so he kneeled beside the bed and waited.

\---

 He was getting restless.

Castiel looked as Dean mumbled something underneath his breath, shifting his body side to side before settling in a different position on the covers.

What if Dean was not comfortable enough?

                 Taking one of the stiff pillows from the top of the bed, he carefully lifted Dean's head and placed it underneath.

                Dean shifted again, side to side.

What if Dean was cold?

                He pulled the covers off the other twin bed in the room, wrapping Dean up in the thin duvet.

Castiel peered over at Dean, tapping his fingers against his knee until he remembered that _Angels_ do not fidget.

And then one terrible thought crossed his mind.

What if Castiel's grace hadn't been enough?

Castiel gripped his knees painfully tight.

It _had_ been his first time using his grace on anyone other than himself, what if didn't heal Dean completely? What if that was why Dean was not waking up?

Because Castiel was sitting by his charges side while he was slowly _dying._

_No, no, no_

Castiel pulled out his notebook once more, flipping for anything that would save Dean, (he was positive he had missed something now).

This was just like the Crow, messing up as usual, oh father, Dean was going to _die_ and they hadn't even said _hello_ to one another yet, and oh- what's this?

                Castiel read one of the passages he had copied from that dusty old text, looked up at Dean meekly and told himself, if it was to save Dean's life, his permission would have to wait.

\---

                Castiel had managed to collect all the necessary ingredients which Dean seemed to have on hand.

Serendipitous, he thought.

He had always wanted to use that word.

                He poured the salt into the motel bath tub, sprinkling the phoenix ash (why did Dean have this?) in with the water. He then called upon his grace, tracing the Enochian symbols for _health, divinity_ and _serenity_ fingers trailing the surface.The water glowed faintly blue as his grace became one with the water molecules.

                He checked his notes, careful not to let any drips fall on the pages, making sure he had not missed anything.

                Grace baths were one of the many cornerstones of Angelic-Human Rites. The water was both healing and soothing, purifying the body and mind of the Human while gently bringing their soul in acquaintance with an Angel's grace.

                Castiel figured that was what humans called "killing a bird with two stones", not quite sure why Humans enjoyed killing birds so much.

                He went to fetch Dean from the bed, about to snap away his clothes when he realized he didn't exactly have Dean's permission to do this. Dressing and undressing ones Human was in the Book of Rites, but they did not have such a bond yet.

He did not want to, as the humans called it, "jump on the gun" or was it "jump the gun". He also did not understand why humans would want to jump on top of a weapon with loaded ammunition either.

                But Dean certainly couldn't bathe fully clothed, he would get wet.

Castiel compromised with Dean's undergarments, he once had read humans swam in them at the beach and he figured it was okay.

                He gently placed Dean in the water, the blue glow smoothing over his muscles, and Dean let out a soft sigh.

                Castiel let a small smile pull at his lips, feeling his wings, in whatever dimension they were in, puffing up in happiness.

Dean was enjoying the bath.

                Castiel thought on how he should introduce himself when Dean eventually woke up, flipping through his know-how on human greeting.

 _Nice to meet your acquaintance_! promoted too much formality, he wanted to bond with Dean, and that was way more than a simple acquaintance, but _Hey_ , seemed a tad too informal, and might be even more off-putting.

He settled on _Hello,Dean._


	5. The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Castiel has selective hearing.

 

                Castiel waited by the Impala as the sun started to set, feet steady on the asphalt as he stared at the purple and pink clouds rising over the horizon.

 Being Dean's Angel wasn't going so well and it had only been a couple of hours.

He yearned for his nest, yearned for heaven.

                But he couldn't go back, wouldn't. He would wait **here** , outside the bunker, just as Dean wanted, because _regardless_ of what Dean thought, he would _eventually_ need him, and Castiel was not about to let the chance pass him by.

                So he waited.

Dean seemed to hate him, and Castiel searched for any particular reason why.  He thought back on the grace bath.

                He hadn't expected to be able to feel Dean's thoughts from it, it had been oddly nice to have that sort of connection, and when Dean had been exhibiting signs of distress, he had sent soothing thoughts over him, relaxing him. Then when Dean awoke, he had used the greeting he had thought very hard about, explained to him what was going on. Surely Dean would recognize a grace bath, humans and angels had been using them for thousands of years, or so he has read. He even attempted to use the colloquial slang he had once heard Uriel say in an attempt to show Dean he was savvy on such things.

                Maybe Dean had been overwhelmed. He had just _barely_ died that day, been assigned an Angel, and woken up in a bathtub.

Maybe he was angry because Castiel had not asked for his permission?

                Castiel chastised himself, perhaps he had been a bit eager to jump start the bond, maybe it had thrown Dean off.

                Dean was stubborn, but so was he, and Castiel had decided he would do whatever it took.

So he waited.

                                                                                                ---

                Dean wrapped the grey Men of Letters robe tight around him, sure Sam gave him shit for wearing a dead man's clothes, but these things were just so _damn soft._

                He sat on the wooden chair, careful not to spill his mug of coffee as he placed it down on the desk. 

                He was curious.

                Flipping open Sam's laptop, he logged onto the Bunker's security system. The screen splitting into four sections, one for each camera they had installed in their week of updating the 1950's technology with wifi strong enough to stream Busty Asian Cartoons without buffering.

                He pushed at the arrow keys, moving the camera lens to zoom and focus on the figure next to his Baby.

"Fuck."

                That Caleb, (Calum? Whatever) was still there, standing in the **same exact spot** , trench coat moving slightly as a breeze passed him by.

                Dean groaned and ran his fingers down his face. This _freak_ had stood there all throughout last night? Didn't he have anywhere better to fly off to? needed to pluck seeds off the ground, or catch some worms or whatever his kind did in the morning?

"He still out there?" Sam peered over Dean's shoulder, morning breath hitting him, Dean recoiling in disgust.

"Dude, your breath reeks."

Sam turned smirking, and blew right into his face.

" **Ugh,** what the fuck!"

Sam turned and walked to the kitchen, running a hand through his bed-head.

"He's just trying to do his job Dean, don't be a **dick**."

"Yeah, well." Dean leaned back into the chair, taking a sip of his coffee. "He can't wait out there forever."

                That  is when Dean spilled hot coffee right onto his crotch and cursed while Sam's laugh echoed from the kitchen.

\----

It had been three days.

The pigeon was _still_ out there.

                Sitting from his place at the table, he looked at the bird through the screen. He hadn't even move from his spot on the asphalt _slightly._ This was getting ridiculous. At first he thought the cameras were frozen, and rebooted the system, only to find, **nope** , the chicken really was just **that** still.

Even Dean would have given up by now, or at least fidgeted.

                Sam slammed his research down onto the table, startling Dean as he desperately tried to close the open screen.

"You're getting obsessed you know."

"What, **no** , I don't even care."

                Sam pulled out a chair, its wooden legs screeching loudly on the marble, and sat. His fingers filtering through the papers quickly.

"You check the cameras almost every hour."

Was it really that often?

"I'm just curious to how he hasn't moved a damn muscle."

"Yeah, well, he's an _angel_ , patience is a virtue and all that."  Sam picked up a pen and placed it behind his ear, eyes scanning the loose pages in front of him, occasionally pulling out a post it and scribbling something down.

"It's almost as disturbing as how nerdy you are."

Sam looked up, eyes searing with annoyance. He then sighed, tossing the papers onto the table, crossing his arms as he leaned back.

"Dean, go deal with your angel."

"He isn't _mine_ to deal with, Sam."

"He saved **your** life, you know the drill."

"Yeah, well, I don't remember it so how are you so sure?"

**"Dean."**

                That is when Dean got up from the table and left before Bitch Face #57 could hit him at full force.

 

\-----

Five days.

                It was raining, pouring, and Charles was still out there.

It irritated Dean to no end, _when_ was this guy going to give?

"You know, you're killing my battery life with your obsessive checking."

"Shut **up** , Sam."

Sam leaned his elbows on his brothers shoulders, peering at the split screen.

"He _really is_ still out there."

" 'Seems so"

"You know, " Sam began, " _you_ also haven't left the bunker."

Dean looked at Sam, eyebrows flashing upwards slightly.

"So?"

Sam clapped his brother on the shoulder and walked away.

                Had it really been five days since Dean had left the bunker? He wondered, scratching at the back of his neck, staring at the still silhouette on the screen before slamming the laptop shut.

                Why the hell was he checking anyway, what should it bother him if Calum waited day and night outside the bunker? It was _him_ who was wasting his time, not Dean.

                Dean got up from the desk and walked to the kitchen to grab some lunch. Grabbing the last two slices of bread from within the plastic bag, he tossed them on a white plate.

                So he was waiting outside like a _damn kicked puppy_ in the **rain** , so what? It was most definitely _not_ Deans problem and wasn't affecting him at _all_. He didn't care, he had made it _very_ clear that he wanted nothing to do with Caleb.

Pulling at the refrigerator doors, he scanned the shelves.

What was Sam getting on about? Did he think-

He could leave the bunker _any_ time he wanted, he wasn't _afraid_ like Sam seemed to be insinuating.  That birdbrain wasn't _stopping_ him from doing _anything._

Hell, if he was going to let an feathered freak get in his way.

Dean scanned the shelves once more in frustration.

Dean went out into the library to grab his coat.

"Sam, we need groceries, I'm going out."

Sam smirked from his place amongst his research.

"What." Dean barked.

"Nothing, don't forget the kale."

**"Bitch."**

_"Jerk._

                Dean stormed up the iron staircase and hesitated at the bolted metal door, then shook his head and burst through into the day light.

\---

Castiel was so _bored,_ he never thought he could _feel_ so bored.

And _stiff,_ he was very stiff, and his back itched, and his coat was getting soaked, and maybe he could sit down for _just_ a second- when he heard the sound of metal screeching.

                His blue eyes shot towards the bunker door, watching as Dean walked out and closed it shut behind him, puckering up the collar of his jacket as he made his way through the rain.

Castiel felt a wave of excitement wash away all his discomforts.

                Dean avoided Castiel's gaze, making a beeline for the Impala, steps quick and harsh against the asphalt.  Rain pitter-pattering all around him.

"Hello, Dean."

 **"Stop."** Dean warned as he passed Castiel by.

                Castiel watched as Dean opened the cars door with a squeak and stepped in. Drying the rain off his hands on his trousers and putting the keys into the ignition, and flooring it. The tires creating a spray of mud and water behind him, seeing it splattering Castiel's face from the drivers mirror, Dean smirked.

                Hearing the gentle roar of Baby, he relaxed. He was just going to go to the grocery store, forget Sam's kale on purpose, maybe flirt with the cashier, get some pie and-

 

"Where are we going Dean?"

 

 **"Jesus!"** Losing control of the wheel for a moment, water splashing on the front glass, before steadying it, clutching his chest,  and willing his heart to calm down.

                Castiel practically sighed as his legs found relief inside the car, sitting down on the soft leather. He had been standing for _days,_ and the blood rushing into his legs as his knees decompressed felt _amazing._

"I apologize Dean, I did not mean to startle you."

"Don't **ever** do that again, I mean it."

                Dean looked harshly at the chicken in his back seat through the overhead mirror, getting more irritated by the second. This over glorified flying rodent was _sitting_ in his Baby, dripping wet.

"Get out, you're ruining the leather."

"Where are we going?"

"Oh _dear lord in heaven_ , "

Castiel peered over the seat.

"Yes, Dean?"

                Dean gripped the wheel tight as he made his way into town, ignoring the blue eyes boring into his skull.

"Dean?"

**"What!"**

"You were praying, are you not going to continue and tell me what it is that you require?"

                Dean  practically flipped a shit, and broke several speeding laws as he pulled into the supermarkets parking lot. Slamming the door shut as he ran into the automatic doors.

\---

"Dean, what is this place?"

**Oh god.**

                Here he was, pushing a cart into Aisle 8 of the Supermarket, with an _Angel of the Lord_ dripping water onto the linoleum floor with a _plop_ and _plip_ behind him.

"Dean?"

                Castiel looked, chin raised, all around him. What a strange place. It seemed to contain all of humanities consumable goods in one single convenient location. Castiel was awed.

Human were _so clever._

                Dean rushed past the pasta sauces, the cart's wheels rattling as they rolled across the smooth linoleum. Shoppers staring as Castiel trailed after him.

"Dean, why does human kind require 158 different types of sauced tomato?"

_Plip-plop_

                Ignoring him, Dean made his way to the frozen meats, trying to pick out a good steak for dinner tonight.

" **Sir** , could you please stop that."

Dean turned to see Castiel poking his fingers into the plastic-wrapped ground beef, repeatedly squishing the bits and pieces around in the blood.

"Dean, these look like vampire brains, why do you require them? Is it for a ritual?"

The butcher laughed from behind the counter.

"He's _your_ fledgling?"

               

_Seriously?_

                Dean eyes burned in fury as he grabbed the ground meat out of Castiel's hands, tossing it back onto the shelves and dragged him by the arm back to the cart.

                Castiel tilted his head to the side as Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

_Deep breaths._

"Dean, are you alright?"

"No."

That was the **wrong** thing to say.

                In a matter of seconds Dean found himself placed inside the cart, legs hooked over the edges. Castiel's face hard, brows furrowed and eyes sharp and searching. Brandishing his Angel blade, he began to push the cart, running down the aisles at an alarming speed.  Castiel's coat flapping wildly behind him, tossing water everywhere.

"What is the threat Dean? Where is the enemy? I will assure your safety."

_Plip-plop-splat-drip-splaaaaat_

                Dean's blood boiled, his face turning red as he passed a group of teenagers, laughing at the 22 year old in the cart. He probably looked like an overly excited little boy while his mommy pushed him around the store.

"Cassidy."

"Castiel."

"Castiel, stop this cart, **right** this freaking second."

"But Dean, I haven't killed the enemy yet-"

"I said **now,** Castiel!"

And just like that they came to a halt, wheels scratching the linoleum with a screech, next to a wall of various  sliced breads.

Dean struggled, and flailed his arms against the metal, trying to pull himself out, but to no avail. The wheels squeaking as the momentum tossed the cart slightly back and forth.

"Get me out of this thing."

"But Dean, the _enemy_ -"

**"Now."**

Castiel lifted Dean out of the cart, placing him gingerly next to a shelf of various jams.

Castiel was very confused.

Dean cheeks burned with fury and embarrassment.

"There is **no threat** , I am just trying to get _groceries_ , so if you could remove your blade from over there, that would be _great_."

                Castiel flushed slightly, he had been so ready to slaughter the threat to Dean's life, he hadn't realized he had impaled his blade deep through a package of whole wheat bread.

Pulling the blade out, he tossed it back into his sleeve, his fingers clasping one another.

He had messed up.

"I'm sorry Dean."

                Dean sighed loudly, grabbing the cart and picking the bread with a massive hole in it off the shelf, tossing it into the cart.

He couldn't let anyone else see that shit.

**"Follow and don't touch anything."**

Dean pushed the cart, Castiel falling in step behind him.

He just needed to get food and leave, he would not let some incompetent Canary get in the way.

Castiel trailed behind Dean, shoes shuffling against the floor, leaving black scuff marks amongst the white tiles.  

                The plan to prove himself to Dean wasn't going so well. He had heard his charges words and immediately thought _threat_. Castiel pulled out his notebook and wrote.

_"No" does not mean Dean's life is in danger, investigate further before acting._

                He slipped the notebook back into his trench coats pocket, catching up to Dean who was now examining a wall of different shaped pastas.

                He was muttering something underneath his breath as his eyes scanned the shelves, curious, Castiel listened.

_"Linguine, linguine, linguine...where the hell is it?"_

                What was linguine, he didn't know, but **Dean** was _looking_ for it. Perhaps this was his chance to redeem himself.

                That is when Castiel turned to look at the wall of shelves and his heart stopped.

                Right there, on the fourth shelf from the top, second to the right, was a slim rectangular blue box with the words " _Linguine Pasta_ " printed on it.

The shelf shook with the amount of force Castiel used to grab at it.

                Holding the box in his hands, he turned to Dean who was now bending down on the floor, green eyes squinted, searching.

He moved towards him, and gently whispered, "Dean."

                Dean eyes shot towards him in annoyance, ready to mouth him off, when he saw a blue box in the birds hands, held like a peace offering.

"It says Linguine on it, is this what you were searching for?"

Dean stood up and took the box from Castiel, looking at him.

"Oh, um- thanks."

                Dean turned to place the box in the small basket of the cart, not seeing the way Castiel shoulders perked up, and face visibly brightened.

"Dean, is -is this a _mission_?"

                Dean stilled, turning to look at the Angel, trying to quell the shift from irritation to amusement in his stomach.

"Is it a _quest_?" Castiel continued, "You are searching for things, are you not?"

                Dean let out a small laugh, and Castiel decided it was the best sound in the world. Pulling out his notebook and pen, he flipped quickly through the pages. Pen tip pressed to the page, his blue eyes looked to him widely.

"Tell me what it is we are searching for so that I may be of assistance."

                Dean tilted his head, flicking his tongue against his teeth for a moment in consideration. He had just been ready to bash the birds skull in moments ago, but now, now this was sort of entertaining.

"Well, if you're going  to follow me around, I guess you might as well be useful."

Castiel beamed as he listed off every word Dean spoke.

\----

It was the fastest grocery run Dean had ever made.

                Castiel immediately disappearing and reappearing, placing food from the list carefully inside the cart constantly as Dean pushed down the cereal aisle. The sound of rustling feathers almost constant. Looking down he realized everything had been collected by the time he reached for the Cocoa Puffs, only for the box to disappear from his hands and appear in the cart.

This was not _that_ bad.

Castiel followed Dean as they turned towards the baked goods section of the market.

"Only one more thing to get, Owl head, the most **important** thing."

The Angel perked up, keeping pace with Dean as they walked.

"And what is the most important thing, Dean?"

Dean looked at him, desire heavy in his eyes.

**_"Pie."_ **

"Pie?" Castiel asked, tilting his head to the side.

                He hadn't read about pie being a very important human thing in his studies, but if this was important to Dean...

"Is pie _very_ important to you Dean?"

Dean raised his eyebrows as he scanned the shelves, turning to give Castiel an enthusiastic nod.

"One of the most."

                He took his notebook out and wrote:

_Pie is of **most** import._

                Dean didn't want to feel amused, but he couldn't fight the grin as he read what the pigeon wrote over his shoulder.

                Leaving the cart, he walked over to the Bakery counter, the smell of fresh baked muffins and scones hitting him. Ringing the bell, he watched as the heavy set baker strode over, his belly giggling up and down.

"What can I do for you?" The baker said.

"Yeah," motioning with his hands," what type of pies ya got?"

                Castiel pushed the cart up the counter, he wanted to see Dean's face when he received the pie to record it in his notebook.

"Oh, I am sorry sir, no more pies today."

Dean's face fell, and Castiel looked worriedly back and forth between the Baker and Dean.

"What do you _mean_ you don't have any pie?"

"We just sold our last pie to that gentleman over there."

                They both peered over in unison to see an elderly man wheeling his cart away with a hot pie steaming in his cart.

Was this a pie ritual he did not know of? Was Dean going to have to fight the man for the pie?

"But this is a bakery, you're _supposed_ to have pie."

Or maybe he was supposed to _force_ the Baker to _make_ a pie? Why _else_ would Dean be arguing?

                Was it a fight-to-the-death type of ritual? No-he would not let Dean participate and become injured, not on his watch.

He would get Dean his pie.

"I am very sorry sir but-" The baker cut off as Castiel suddenly lunged forward and pulled at the flour stained shirt with a gasp.

"You do not seem to comprehend the situation, Dean **requires** pie."

Dean watched as Castiel shook the Baker by the collar, plumes of powdered sugar rising up.

**What the fuck.**

"Please, sir- we-"

"Dean _needs_ pie. **Now."** His voiced boomed into the bakers face, dropping the baker back to the floor, not realizing the Castiel had even lifted him up.

Dean thought to himself he should _probably_ intervene.

"How **dare** you bring this wild _fledgling_ into this store! if you can't control your angel-"

                Castiel's eyes flashed blue, and in a moment was back in the bakers face, holding him several more inches off the ground by the shirt.

"I assure you, I am **no** fledgling."

The baker swallowed.

"Um, Caleb-" Dean tried to interject, Castiel's head snapping towards him. "I-I mean _Castiel_ , it's alright buddy, just put the doughboy down alright. Calm down."

"But Dean, pie is of import, is it not?"

"Um, _yeah_ , but we don't need to _hurt_ anyone for it."

Castiel's fierce facial expression softened as he dropped the Baker.

"Oh, I thought fighting and proving ones worth was part of the exchange to get the pie, my apologies."

                Dean should probably be pissed, he should probably be really pissed. But instead he clutched his stomach and laughed hard.

"Dean?"                                          

Castiel did not know what was so humorous, but enjoyed Dean's laughter none the less.

The baker muttered from his place on the tiled floor, raising himself up from the counter.

"I-I think we might have a frozen apple pie in the back."

Dean was in hysterics, breaths mere gasps.

Castiel turned to the Baker, furrowing his brows and nodding.

**"Good."**

** **

\---

                Dean drove back to the bunker, grocery bags piled up in the back, the precious pie placed on the passenger seat. Castiel leaned over.

"Is the pie acceptable Dean?"

Dean burst out laughing, and Castiel keened over the sound.

He didn't want to get ahead of himself, but he couldn't help feeling he had done a good job today, regardless of making some mistakes.

It had been worth it to wait.

                "Why'd," Dean gasped in between laughs, "Why did you get so pissed when he called you a fledgling?"continuing to laugh.

"Because I am not one Dean, I am trained, and ready to fight and assist. It is comparable to being called a child."

"Yeah well, " Dean said, not aiming to really continue as the smile pulled at his lips.

                They were now back at the bunker. Dean getting out of the car opening the back door to collect the bags, he saw Castiel had now disappeared. Collecting the bags, he turned around to find him staring at Dean, holding the box of pie.

A wave of awkward  fell over Dean.

                He moved towards the Angel, grabbing the pie with his free hand. Castiel stood awkwardly, fidgeting back and forth and before abruptly  stopping.

Despite everything, Dean had made his decision. They had laughed, so _what_ , people laugh with other people _all the time._

Dean still was not going to let the bird into the bunker.

Castiel worried his lower lip, and Dean thought the action was peculiar.

" I will be here if you require me."

"This doesn't change anything."

Castiel looked straight into his eyes.

"I have no intention of leaving you unguarded."

"I don't _need_ to be guarded."

Turning his back on Dean, and resuming his prior stance of five days.

"I will be here."

Dean made his way to the bunkers door, opening it and walking inside, tossing the groceries on the kitchen table. Sam following him in, he rummaged through the bags.

"Um, Dean? Why does the bread have a giant hole in it?"

Dean fought his laughter and walked away with pie in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, maybe this was a little bit crack-y.
> 
> I just wanted to show that there is potential for them to fall back on, plus that gif, oh god. I just, it was too perfect.
> 
> I am still doing a lot of setting up, so while it may seem a bit scattered, I promise it will all come together :)


	6. Persistence is a Burden

 

 

It had been _two days_ since Dean had last come out of the Bunker, and Castiel  was becoming more restless by the hour.

 Regardless of his ability to stay stationary, Castiel's mind wandered in a attempt to keep himself from blowing a hole **right through** that bunker door and **dragging** Dean out.

He really did **hate** doors.

                After the Super Market Castiel hadn't expected to be let into the bunker. Dean was stubborn from what he could see and Castiel knew finding a certain type of pasta would not remedy his disdain towards him.

                He instead chose to think of his position besides the Impala as an assigned one. If anything, the Impala _was_ one of Dean's prized possessions and perhaps if Castiel stood outside, day after day faithfully as "Baby" did, then perhaps by association he could gain Dean's faith in him and his abilities.

 But associations took long to form and Castiel was a restless.

Then he heard his stomach growl.

                Castiel sighed, it had been a total of _seven days_ since he had become _Dean's Guardian Angel_ and he had not had time to fly off to get anything to eat, (nor had any moment to really guard Dean). Angel's were, however, very resilient, so with a twist and pull of his grace, he suppressed the hunger, replacing it with a resolve to be attentive and ready for whenever Dean needed him. Castiel was desperate to do a good job aiding Dean, but the moment had yet to arrive.

But, It _could_ be at _any_ moment.

He stared at the metal door.

Any moment, even now.

                He stared, noticing the subtle rust forming at the bottom of the door, working its way up,  wrapping around the handle. He could make this door mere _molecules_ in seconds, but that would not improve the situation with Dean.

_Any moment._

                A faint breeze blew his trench coat out behind him, and the sun shined off the impala, glaring into his eyes and oh god, it was getting hot underneath this coat, and **when** was he going to come out-

**_Screeeeeeeeeeeech-clang_ **

"So we're in and out, routine hunt."

"I've _got_ it, Sammy."

"No calling for any more Angel's help either, in case you get _scared_ , can't have a God Squad in our hands."

" **Die in a ditch, Sam**."

_Oh thank the Heavens_ , patience was **not** Castiel's greatest virtue.

                Shifting duffle bags on their shoulders, the boys began to walk towards the Impala. Sam cackling behind Dean as he rolled his eyes and passed Castiel by.

"Hello, Dean, and hello, Sam."

                "Oh, you **still** here, Flamingo?" Dean didn't bother looking at the Angel as he went to open up the trunk of the car, tossing the bags in, and slamming it shut. The force shaking the car, causing the wheels to squeak a bit. Castiel felt a small inkling of irritation budding, and tried to force his grace to quell it.

"Hey Castiel, nice day isn't it?" Sam said, giving his brother a look that said, _I can't believe you're my brother, seriously, you are such a **jerk.**_

"Where is it that you are going? Is it the Super Market once more Dean? Do you require assistance in intimidating the Pie Man?"

Castiel stood looking at Dean wide eyed, as Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing harshly.

"So, you and the Angel went _grocery shopping_ Dean? How domestic of you." Sam shifted his eyes to look at Dean, stifling a laugh.

"Get in the **damn** car before I leave you here _with **him**_."

"Are you sure you won't get _jealous_? Maybe blue eyes here and I will find ourselves at an aisle at the store instead of waiting for you to get back."

**"Sam."**

                Dean opened the door of the driver's seat, about to step in. Then he stopped, holding a hand up in the air in thought, when he turned to face Castiel.

"And **you,"** pointing a finger, "don't go zapping into the backseat, **you aren't coming**."

"But Dean, perhaps I could be of use-"

"No, Caleb, you can't help because you're **you."**

"Dean I-"

                Castiel was cut off by Dean slamming the door shut with a **_plunk._** Sam following shortly after. Castiel watched as they started the car, and floored it. The wind blowing his tie up and onto his nose. The irritation began a harder fight against his grace, blue fighting against red, shifting into something akin to purple, and then burning through the blue particles to form a pure red, and Castiel suddenly felt something he hadn't felt in a _long_ time.

He hadn't felt anger in about 600 years.

_It's **you.**_

The memory called.

**_You can't help the humans because of who you are._ **

No. He was wrong, **Dean was wrong.**

**_\---_ **

                Within a flash Castiel was in the _front_ seat, sandwiched between Sam and Dean, legs awkwardly spread to avoid the stick shift. With bored hooded eyes Sam turned to look out the window, leaning an elbow against the pane, watching the power lines pass them by.

"I told you he would come, Dean."

                Dean looked towards Castiel, green eyes clouding with irritation, sweaty hands tight on the wheel, staining the leather a darker shade. He went to twist it to pull the car over when a foreign hand shot out from his peripheral vision, catching the worn leather and holding it in place. Effectively keeping the car on its current course straight ahead. Dean tried to shake him off, pushing at Castiel's shoulders with one hand, as another tried to take back dominance over the wheel, but Castiel's strength prevented the car from even moving an _inch_ away from the apparent destination.

"What are you doing! I need to drive here-"

**"No, you listen to me, Dean Winchester."**

                Both Sam and Dean jumped up at the Angel, surprised at his outburst. Sam's head whipping around from his view at the window. The sound of the engine quietly humming, along with the rattling sound the air conditioner made felt like the slow drumming of war drums, vibrating the air and weighing it down with tension.

                The blue of Castiel's eyes were deep and hostile, like a tall wave ready to crash down and drown him. Dean swallowed harshly, bringing the hand that was still pushing at Castiel's shoulder back to rub at the nape of his neck. Castiel's hair was barbed-wire sharp, caught with the debris of the fast passing country around them. He had broken several sound barriers on his flight in and did not bother to shake off the inevitable dirt and leaves. They fell softly to the floor of the Impala with a rustling flutter and a floop.

"I have waited **patiently** , I have **listened** to your complaints about me, and you need to know that I am very **capable** of assisting you Dean, **let me prove it to you.** "

"What is this a _job interview_?" Dean barked, flicking his tongue against his teeth.

"Good things come to those who work Dean, and those who reach the top of the mountain do not fall from the heavens and land there. So I am willing to overlook your _blatant hatred_ for me if you allow me the chance to do my job."

"I'm **not** negotiating with you."

"I think we are getting close."

"You **aren't** coming with us."

"Well, you _owe_ me." Castiel looked towards him, small leaves fluttering out of his hair as he narrowed his eyes to slits.

_Rustle-rustle._

**"What?"** Dean looked at Castiel incredulously, eye brows raised. "Where do _you_ get off saying shit like that? " The Impala hit a road bump, causing the three to jostle up and down, leaves coming loose from Castiel's hair and fluttering to the ground. "and **stop** seeding a garden in my baby."

"I saved your life." Castiel said in a very matter of fact way, unblinking, with his chin raised up just the _slightest_ bit,  "whether you like it or not, you **owe** me one chance, Dean."

                Sam looked over Castiel's shoulder at Dean, mouthing a 'you do', with those stupid puppy dog eyebrows.

Castiel was unmoving, knuckles white and steady against the wheel, waiting for Dean's reply.

                He had read about manipulation in his studies, using deeds past done to ask for favors. He usually would not ever fall on such means, but Dean and his anger left him no choice. He only hoped he was utilizing the method correctly. All he needed was _one chance_ , **one** , to show Dean that he could be of great help.

**"I didn't ask you to save me."**

                And with that Castiel recoiled, hunching his shoulders, and dropping his hand from the wheel, fingers flittering down to dig into his upper thigh. Looking down and away, he pressed his lips together, settling back to sit uncomfortably between the two boys.

It was **true.**

Dean _hadn't_ asked Castiel to save him.

Castiel had _begged_ to be the one to.

                And while Dean didn't know that part, he still was here, acting foolishly on _emotion_ , a emotion he knew from _that_ time, was better not to feel.

**Stupid.**

                Dean grabbed the wheel muttering a 'jesus' under his breath as he took control. Turning the car around when he realized they had missed their exit. Sam watching as Castiel eyes flickered in thought, staring at his hands, the digits clenching and unclenching at they dug into his thigh painfully.

                Sam swallowed harshly, rubbing a hand against his blue jeans, the rough material catching on his calluses. He looked at his brother, whose face was a tense hard line and a stiff jaw.

He was going to kill him.

"Castiel, you've studied mythical creatures and monsters, right?"

                The Angel broke from the trance he had with his hand, looking up, and now Sam could see the doubt clouding him, fading away into the overly-eager to please Angel he had known from the last seven days. Dean shot around to him, eyes blazing with a _don't you dare._

"Yes, Sam. I have studied for many years."

"And you know how to fight?"

He could hear Dean's thoughts screaming at him, _what do you think you're doing?_

"Yes, Sam, I've trained every day."

"Then, would you be willing to help _me_?"

_Honk. **Beep.**_

Dean's grip slipped from the wheel, pressing his palm into the horn, the sound peaking from the car for a quick moment.

Castiel's smile could light up the depths of the ocean as the small leaves continued to fall as he took a deep happy breath in.

                He practically elbowed Sam and Dean, shifting back and forth, almost kicking the shift into the next gear, flailing, trying to grab at his notebook.

Flipping it open to a clear page, the pen pressed flush against the stark white, he leaned in close to Sam, nose to nose  almost touching.

" _Of course_ Sam, how may I be of assistance."

**"Are you fucking _kidding_ me, Sam?"**

**\---**

Was Sam for fucking _real_?

                Here they were in the _damn public library_ of Nebraska, trying to find out the local lore on the woods in the area. Sam was showing Castiel how to work a computer. The Angel touching a single key before _shorting it out_ from the grace to electrical contact. ("Grace is quite like electricity, I suppose.") Sam now had Castiel searching up and down the aisles for books on the town and any creatures that might fit the pattern for the current case of teens going missing in the woods for weeks now. The local authorities were sure as ever it was just _crazy kids being kids_ , but the Winchester Boys knew better.

                Dean however, stood in the corner, smacking the gum in his mouth loudly, earning a few disgusted sneers from the book nerds around him, lip tight as he crossed his arms and leaned against the cat poster on the wall, stating that 'reading is fun!'.

He blew a small minty green bubble from his lips.

_Pop._

Where did **Sam** get off asking this _Angel_ to help him, when he _knew_ how Dean felt.

_Snap._

 He was supposedly _Dean's_ Angel, was he not? Even if he didn't want to have anything to do with him, it didn't mean that _Sam_ was _free_ to just _take him_ into his little geek-boy world.

_Snick._

It wasn't as if this Caleb was capable of anything _anyway._ He was just some other _Flying Freak show of a fool_. What use could Sam _possibly_ have of him?

_Pop._

No, it _couldn't._

_Snap._

What if it was happening.

_Pop._

Again.

Dean stopped chewing, letting the minty gum piece tingle and sear his taste buds an artificial blue.

                **No,** Dean thought, he was Sam's _brother_. They had been through this before, Sam had said he was _fine_ since then, he had said he was _okay._

                He tongued the gum against the roof of his mouth with a _snap,_ looking at his brother's broad back, spine pushing at the plaid fabric of his button down, elbows leaned in to whatever he was reading. His eyes flittering across the page as he brought a hand up to smooth his long strands of hair back.

But, what _if?_

He immediately grabbed a random book from the pile and pulled up a cheap generic IKEA chair.

   Looking at his brother with slightly pursed lips, he flipped the book, a text book apparently-man was this thing heavy-, open to a random page, clearing his throat.

"So, Hey."

   Sam was in the midst of flickering a wooden pencil back and forth in-between his index and middle finger, halting the movement to look at Dean, hair falling back in front of his face. Dean's felt something stir in his gut, knowing that Sam was _just_ shy of 19, but right now all he could see was his little baby brother Sammy.

"Dean."

He chewed his gum softly, not making a sound, the mint was fading away to a tasteless grayish blue now. Looking at how his brother was such a large guy, easily mistaken for a man,  but still had that slight boyish gawkiness to him, in his wrists, where the tan skin stretched thin over the strong bones, in his round cheeks that hinted at the strong bone structure that would eventually give way.

He felt something in him drop.

Sam stared at him, eyes squinted in confusion, a light smile pulling at his lips, as he scoffed and leaned back, tossing a lanky arm over the plastic chair.

"Is this about Castiel, because Dean, the way you two fight is so _damn annoying_ and he's is going to follow us around _regardless_ so he might as well be-"

"No, it's not about the flapping pelican."

Sam chuckled slightly, and Dean felt his lips twitch upwards at the corners.

"You're really getting creative with those names, and I don't think he even gets that they are supposed to be insulting."

"Well maybe he takes after his cousin _the Dodo_."

Sam laughed loudly, biting his lip as he tried to contain himself, his large hand absently clutching at his chest.

_No,_ Dean thought.

Sam _was_ fine.

                "Sam, why do you wish to go after the monster?" The annoyingly gruff voice of said Dodo appearing around a book shelf, holding a large stack of books in his arms, placing them on the compressed cardboard table with care.

                "Because that is what _we_ do," Dean interjected, mindlessly chewing on the slightly minty gum, slapping a hand on nerdy boy Sam's shoulder, " hunting things, saving people, the _family_ business."

Castiel cocked his head to the side in contemplation, eyes wide and focused.

"But that is very _dangerous_ both of your well beings will be put into risk."

Dean scoffed, spitting the now tasteless gum into the textbook and closing it shut for someone else to find.

"If it's so risky, **don't come,** _Feather Face_."

"That is _precisely_ why I **need** to come and protect you _both_."

Dean felt the feeling in his stomach stir.

**"We don't need your protection."**

"Have you _forgotten_ about the vampires-"

"Will you _jilted lovers_ quit it," Sam called, flicking the pencil between his fingers again, "Castiel give me that book over there."

Dean stood and proceeded to smack the book out of Castiel's hands, and onto the floor.

"Call me when you got something, I need a drink."

\---

**"Fuck."**

The hunt was not going particularly _well._

They had figured out what they were hunting was a Wendigo, and that was _great_.

 What _wasn't_ great was Dean was now in its _doomsday lair._

                The air was heavy and damp, the smell of sulfur and ash overwhelming. He could hear the faint _pitter-patter_ of water in the far off distance. Squinting his eyes through the darkness, and making out what appeared to be rusty metal bars infused within the dark stone floor, thick with grime, a rail system?

Definitely he was underground, a _mine_ maybe?

                 Hands burning with pain, he looked up to see his wrists were bound with molding rope, currently being strung up and stored like the jars of peanut butter Sam organized by type and amount of crunch in the kitchen cupboard.

**Oh god.**

                He was going to need to **disinfect** himself later, because he had just damn _whimpered_ from spotting the little _maggots_ that were interwoven within that said molding- but actually infested- rope.

                Dean struggled against the binds, feet barely touching the floor, making tiny trails in the coal dust and ash. He could feel the little shits squirming against his skin, slimy and gross. Plumes of debris  flew up from his movements, blanketing his jeans, and imbedding their way into his socks, the folicles rubbing against the freckled skin of his ankles. Then he felt something soft and _squirmy_ fall from his wrists and land in his _hair._

_Fuuuuuccckkkk, so gross._

_Maybe_ had gotten a _bit_ over eager.

                They had pinpointed the camping area the teens that disappeared had frequented. The site littered with leaves, and twigs, dirt patches smoothed over and burnt with past bonfires.

                 Dean had cursed at Castiel to stay out of the _damn way_ while Sam chastised him about being a massive _prick_. About three hours in, the sun began to set over the tall pine trees, leave shaped shadows being cast upon them as the last bits of sunlight filtered through. 

                Castiel kept asking why Dean felt the need to put himself _and Sam_ in harm's way. Why was it that they _had_ to kill the monster? Couldn't someone else do it? Dean yelled at him to shut up and that a _birdbrain_ like him wouldn't understand, and that it was _their job._

                Now Castiel was constantly surveying the area around them, eyes wary and alert, asking Dean if he was _sure_ he did not want them to be flown to a more secure space while _he_ killed the monster, since it was _so_ important to Dean to do so.

                Dean had practically screeched at Castiel that he had been hunting for **22 damn years** , and _no-bird-poop-stain-of-an-Angel_ was going to put him and his brother in the _kiddy corner_ and do _his_ damn job for him.

Castiel was about to present his rebuttal when they heard _it_.

The flap of twisted wings, and a haunting screech echoing through the branches above.

                Dean had immediately run after it, cocking his gun, muttering a 'finally'. Following the sound of its calls and the large shadow it occasionally casted as it rushed through the leaves, he yelled at Castiel that it was _he_ who should let the _real_ hunters take care of it as he disappeared into the shrubbery.

Castiel had ran after him, calling out a frustrated **'Dean,** _let me protect you!_ '.

                Dean gripped his gun tight in his hand, silver bullets loaded, as he turned to tell Castiel the _hell_ of, that he didn't need _any_ type of protection, when he felt two large hands swoop down to pluck him from the ground, watching the Angel's eyes go wide in the fast approaching distance.

**Son of a Bitch**.

\---

Sam was in shock.

                After he ran after _Castiel_ , who was running after _Dean_ , who was running after a _damn Windigo_ , like an **_idiot._** He found the Angel staring into the sky with wide eyes, and tight fists.

"Castiel," panting between breaths, _damn_ the Angel was fast."what happened?"

                The angel turned his head towards him slowly. Sam felt a chill fall down his spine at the look of sheer annoyance in the blue eyes.

" ** _Your brother_** is the most _infuriating, **stubborn**_ and _ridiculous_ human I have **ever** met! He does not let me assist him and **look** what happens!" Castiel grabbed at his dark hair, knuckles white as he gripped it tight, tossing dirt, twigs and little beetle homes, in shock waves around his black loafers as he stomped back and forth. "He was **captured** Sam!" hands gesturing to the sky, "plucked from the ground like a worm!"

_"'I don't need protection **Caleb**! I don't need you- you **Flaming Pink Flamingo**!' _ And see Sam! It is only a _week_ in and my charge is _already_ in peril! **How could I have let this happen?** Why does he not _listen_ and accept my assistance! I am **failing** Sam! Failing and-"

                Castiel chocked on the last word and looked to Sam, eyes wet and glazed over with fear and anger. Looking hopeless as he dropped the hands from his hair, hunching over and staring at the ground.

"My brother is an idiot."

                But Sam was starting to panic too, this was his Big Brother, Dean. Dean always knew what to do, _always._

**"Sam,** what if he isn't alright?" He said in a small voice, wrapping his arms around himself, clutching at his coat, the tan fabric pulling taunt across his shoulders.

                Sam was at a loss, this Angel apparently had emotions, Dean was probably being slurped dry like a damn _Capri-sun packet_ , they were in the middle of these stupid ugly woods, with nothing to go off of and **oh god,** what if his brother _wasn't_ okay, **the damned dumbass** , what if they couldn't get to him in time and-

"We need a plan, Sam."

Sam peered through his panic attack at Castiel, eyes harsh, blade glistening in the moonlight.

                He could tell that Castiel was worried, scared even, his heaving chest if anything a testament to that, but his determined face told Sam he _wasn't_ going to let that hold him back.

"Yeah," Sam gasped out, heart beating in his chest, "yeah, okay."

\---

                Running through the mine shafts, their hurried steps echoed off the cavern walls, causing small pebbles to fall and shift around them, dust rising up in a sad attempt to blind them.

"Sam! Faster!"

"I'm trying!"

                Castiel had used his grace, latching onto the remaining energy in the air the Wendigo had left ("Molecules remember, Sam" "Right, the molecules.") and caught onto his trail. Sam had barely kept in step with the Angel as he lead them into an abandoned mine shaft. Before entering, he had warned Sam to stay close, and that his grace told him there was about an 80% chance the monster was still in there. The plan was to find Dean as fast as they could and get out of there, slaughtering the monster only if they had to.

But _damn_ Castiel was _fast_ , and Sam knew he wasn't even using his wings, well he was starting to doubt if the Angel _did_ have wings, because **now** would be a pretty good place to use them. His heart pounded against his rib cage, breath harsh as he tried to keep up. The hole that he needed to fix in his converse splitting wider against the sole of his foot as it hit the ash laden floor with a _riiiiiiip._

A snarl vibrated throughout the walls.

"Sam!"

The Wendigo was close, a shadow casting against the stone walls.

That is when Sam knew what he was going to do.

He was going to have to trust this Angel to get his brother back.

"Go ahead! Find Dean!"

"But Sam!" Castiel's eyes wide, and blue, even in the stark shadows of the mine.

Another roar.

**"Go!"**

"I will be as back as soon as I can. **Don't die."**

                With that Castiel jumped up, his trench coat splaying in the air in a plume of charcoal and sand, disappearing.

                Sam realized then that Castiel only ran to stay with Sam, only to protect Sam. He took the chance of not using his wings and getting to Dean faster alone, because he would rather of gotten to Dean _together._

 With that knowledge he found a full trust to place within Castiel.

He pulled his gun out of his jean pocket, clocking the revolver, grip steady.

He heard a wet sound behind him, turned and-

\---

**BANG.**

                Castiel heard the now distant shot of Sam's gun from behind him. He hadn't wanted to leave Sam behind, but he couldn't take Sam and fly at the speed he needed to. It would rip his entire skeleton out of his body.

Flying at top speed, he flapped his wings with a vicious force, shaking the coal and rock walls down to it basic sedimentary layers. He extended his grace through every nook and crevice, seeing in his mind's eye as he shifted and turned.

_Left, right, no, right, no, left, up, down, right, left, left, left, where was he?!, left, right, what if I'm- no, left, right, left- Not there, no, no, and no,_

Until his grace vibrated with the sound of rustling rope.

Materializing in front of Dean suddenly caused him to gasp in shock.

Castiel could see him dangling from the ceiling, wrists bound tight with a disgusting rope, cheeks blackened with coal and smoke, smile blinding white against the dirty skin.

"Hey, Clarence."

Castiel immediately vaporized the binds on Dean's wrists.

Dean landed on the ground, massaging the tender skin around his wrists.

"Where's Sam?"

Castiel rushed onto his senses, his grace observing every single pore, causing Dean to breathe in harshly at the sensation.

"Are you harmed? injured? Dean-" Castiel moved in on him, gripping him at the wrists, examining the reddened skin, it starting to blister slightly.

"I'm fine, where's Sam?"

" **Dean,** you are injured."

"Just some rope burn, s'fine, let's get Sam and get out of here."

Castiel looked up at him, touch tender against his wrist. He saw the little blue tendrils extend out from his finger tips, soothing and wrapping itself around the skin, digging in deep into the cell structure as it healed.

"He gave you 'rope burn', _so it too shall **burn**."_

\---

**Shit, shit, shit, shit.**

Sam was running, running down the rail line for his damn life.

The bullets didn't _work._

At first he had thought maybe he had missed, but then again, Sam Winchester hadn't missed a shot since his 7th birthday.

Silver bullets _didn't_ work.

The Wendigo clawed at his back, and he heard the plaid tear to bits in the air as he barely evaded it.

That was his _favorite_ shirt.

\---

Dean ran with Castiel, chest heavy with worry. Why the fuck had Castiel left Sam behind? Was he an idiot? He got ready to chew the Angel out until they suddenly stopped.

"What are you doing! We have to find Sam-"

"Left."  Castiel said, running in the said direction of the mine shaft.

"What?"

"I said **Left!"** Dean ran after him.

"Right!"

"Left-omph!" Castiel fell to the floor as Sam's form crashed into him.

Sam looked up between their tangled limbs, Castiel groaning slightly.

"Dean, you alright?"

                A high-pitched screech echoed of the walls, the sound of sharp claws digging into the stone, as the large shadow cast itself upon them.

                There was the Wendigo, standing at about twelve feet tall, pale green skin pulled incredibly tight over the deformed bones. It's sharp claws reflecting the red of his eyes. Crooked yellow teeth snarling and dripping _wet_ with hunger.

"Shit."

                Dean pulled Sam off of Castiel, yelling that they had to go. They were halfway down the hall when Sam noticed that said Angel was not behind them.

"You stupid motherfucker!" Dean called, telling Sam to get out as fast as he could, and running back to Castiel, who was just standing there, _motionless_ as the monster circled him.

Dean pulled out his gun and fired two shots into the ugly monsters head, it howling in pain, giving them a moment.

                Castiel turned to Dean, pulling out his Angel Blade as he ran towards him. He gripped Dean tight by the arm and jumped through the air as the Wendigo fumbled blindly.

"We need a plan" Dean said, turning towards the Angel.

"It's fast Dean, we need a distraction."

                                                                                                ----

                Dean had the monster trailing behind him, running down the twist and turns of the mine's tunnels.  Breath heavy and hard as the he fought to see through the darkness. The Wendigo howled behind him, claws screeching and mouth dripping saliva with a _slurping plop._

**This better fucking work.**

                Dean made all the turns Castiel had mapped out for him, making the last right turn before meeting a stone cold dead end.

"Oh you have to be fucking kidding me."

He turned to find the monster snarling in his face, claws poised to strike when-

"Hey!"

The Wendigo turned to meet the Angel's raised hand, about to charge, when blinding grace shot out from his palm.

The creature screeched as it burnt to a crisp.

Dean stared up, shocked, body pressed up against the wall.

"Not bad."

Castiel smirked.

"He is fine, it is just a _'rope burn'_."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wont really be a case fic, there will just been some hunting thrown in for plot development.
> 
> Also some sastiel, oh ho ho. 
> 
> I don't think I mentioned it, Dean is 22 in this fic, Sam 18 since hes 4 years younger than Dean, Cas looking as young as Dean. 
> 
> I'm still setting up a lot of the stories so bear with me. I have atleast 4 chapters a head of this one mapped out already and lets just say I can't wait till we get to the main plot. Ughhhh so exciting, I wanna share it with you guys njdsfnafdsafnjds


	7. Useful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel continues to aid Sam and Dean on their hunts, despite Dean's disdain for it.

He was making progress.

                Even if Dean had been absolutely _furious_ after they had killed the Wendigo, ("You used me as bait!" "Dean, I assure you, you were in no immediate danger." " _That isn't the point_!") Sam had smiled at him and said,

"You did good."

                Sam had told Castiel that he would bring him on their hunts from now on, despite Dean's arguments, because of how useful he had proved himself to be to Sam. ("He used me as bait, Sam." "You deserved it, besides Castiel is better at research than you.") Castiel was practically glowing blue with grace, his happiness so strong, He became even happier when he eventually came to the conclusion that by helping  Sam, he was by extension, also helping Dean. This meaning He would have more chances to prove himself to Dean.

Castiel found himself smiling harder than he had in years.

He had thought that he was _never_ going to be of use to a human.

He had been close to accepting that fate.

Now he had the chance to help not _one_ human, but _two._

Well, _two,_ if Dean wasn't so stubborn.

                However His patience was still being tested, as the tangerine sky littered with clay clumps of clouds, casted the occasional shadow on the asphalt below. Heat beating off his back, as he finally couldn't take it anymore and removed his trench coat, folding it over his arms.

                He could easily cool himself off, but his grace, it was already suppressing so many of his other needs. Castiel worried that if he used it irresponsibly he might not have enough strength to be of assistance to either Dean and Sam.

His needs would have to wait.

                Taking a breath in, the air was thick with burnt rubber and dirty asphalt. The power lines humming with electricity politely behind him, littered with birds peering down at him curiously. The black cables swaying with the barely there breeze.

 

Sweat dripped down his spine.

 

It was so damned hot, and he wanted to smite them all for existing.

  
He turned to his companion, waves of blurred light bounced off the black aluminum of "Baby".

 

"It's a hot day, isn't it vehicle?"

 

He watched the sweat catch on his eyebrow from his reflection in the black gloss.

 

The Impala's leather creaked in response.

 

Castiel brought a hand up to wipe at  his face, the palm sweaty and sticky, rough tongue smacking at the roof of his mouth dryly.

 

"Vehicle, do you think Dean will come out today?"

 

The tires creaked as they adjusted on the burning asphalt.

 

"Yeah," loosening his neck tie out, "me either."

                 

Hair dewed over with the morning heat, swallowing saliva unsatisfying.

 

                He watched as a van passed them by, a girl with a puckered up nose, pressing her chocolate covered cheeks to stare at the man melting, brown streaks staining the glass.

 

"You must get lonely vehicle." Watching the car haze out into the heat.

 

The gentle creak of the tape of Dean's audio cassettes, the seared in voices of its contents groaning.

 

"But Dean does care for you, doesn't he vehicle?" Castiel moved towards the car, placing his palm limply down, gasping, only to jump back from the burning metal.

"Hmm, seems you are _both_ stubborn."

Soothing his hand, he stared at the bunker door. The molecules of its existence vibrating mockingly at him.

Damn door.

He turned back  to the car, before shaking out his trench coat and laying it down over the cars window panes.

"Here, cool off for a bit."

\---

                Relief came in the form of Sam tossing a water bottle in his hands, Dean following after to only rip Castiel's trench coat off the hood of the Impala and onto the asphalt below.

**"Don't. Touch. My. Baby."**

                Rivets of water poured down his chin, settling in with the salt of his sweat, pooling  in the crevices of his collar bones. White shirt becoming transparent as he drenched himself in the cool liquid.

"I can see why you like her."

He could see Dean's narrowed eyes through the tint of his sunglasses, lens flaring.

\---

 The next day they were on the road again, _Angel of the Backseat_ , leaning his head to rest against the cool leather.

 

"What is this? rune magic?"

"Close, it's air conditioning."

 

Castiel sighed into the leather, smoothing his face against the cool surface, eyes closed.

"Delightful..."

"Hey!" Dean slapped his hand over the seat, swatting at Castiel. "Don't get too comfortable."

Rubbing himself against the icy seats.

"Of course, Dean..."

"Stop stinking up the leather!"

Humming,  he laid flat on his back, eyes closing to a felted black ceiling.

"This is your fault you know."

 Sam's hands idly playing with the glove compartment, snapping it open and close as the AC blew his hair back.

 "He has heat stroke for all we know, I told you _one bottle of water_ wasn't enough."

Dean coughed.

Castiel's eyes snapped open, jumping up to lean into the front seat.

"Dean! it was _you_ who initially wanted to provide me relief from the heat?"

Dean shifted his eyes behind the dark lenses, dry land around them reflecting on the glass surface, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

**"Shut up."**

The blue hue of his eyes dancing with elation.

Dean had noticed his discomfort.

Noticed him.

"Thank you for the water Dean, it was very refreshing."

**"I said shut up."**

                The hunt had proven to be quick, a few unruly vampires whose head's had rolled with a nice satisfying _clunk._

"Beginner's luck." Dean had called out, slicing the monsters neck tendons with a swift twist of his machete.

\---

 "Sam!"

                The Werewolf charged at Sam, sending him into a pile of shattered picture frames. The wood making a reappearance through the center of his chest, the splintered edges making thin slices along the top of his cheeks. 

This was not going according to plan. 

                Castiel jumped up and went to strike with his Angel Blade, inches away from the coronary artery of its neck, the Wolf grabbed at his wrists mid air. Flinging the Angel back and forth, Castiel struggling as he brought his knee cap to pound consistently underneath the monsters jaw with a _thwak._

                Dean made a run for his gun that had skittered across the floor in the heat of the fight, sliding his knees down against the ground, rolling to grab at the cold metal, calluses sliding into place. He fired straight at the base of its spine, the twisted face coughing up metallic.

                The Werewolf spun around and hurled itself at Dean. The twisted grey claws clutching at his sides, pushing at his ribcage. A wheeze stretching out from his throat as the Wolf pushed his palms against the bones, decompressing the air in his lungs, out and _out_ , till a sickening _snap_ vibrated off the walls peeling paint.

                The Wolf smirked, nose crinkled, raising his claws up and down-turned, rushing bluntly through the air, aiming to dig into Dean's chest.

Trying to rip his heart out.

                Dean had pulled up his gun between the monsters pause, and shot square between the eyes, the suddenly limp body falling on top of him.

He exhaled a spray of blood all over the fur.

                The beast was suddenly flung across the room, Castiel pulling Dean up from his sprawl on the wooden floor.

"Dean, we need to go."

"Caleb-"

                Suddenly they were away from the abandoned shack on the side of the road. Blue grass tickling at the sides of his cheeks, crickets humming in the humid breeze. He saw the wash of midnight blue, speckled with tiny lights, planets, universes above him.

He wondered if any aliens had to deal with this Werewolf bullshit.

He heard a sputtering sound next to him.

"C-ale-b" Dean coughed out, blood splattering across his flannel. Breathing in a sharp breath, forcing the shriveled up pieces of lung tissue to fill out.

                Castiel was already over him, grace rushing out from his palms to wrap itself around Dean's cells, arguing with his mitochondria and nuclei to hurry the hell up. Dean inhaled sharply as his senses flooded with the ghost fingers of his grace, burrowing itself deep in his cracked bones, painfully causing them to shift back into place with a _snap._

He was teetering on the edge of consciousness, looking up at the Angel, blue eyes wide and flittering over his body with intensity.

"S-sa-"

_splatter_

"S-am-"

 _gasp_ -splat

"- now."

"Dean, stop speaking, you're ribs are piercing into your internal organs."

Coughing up blood,

"I don-t, c-care"

"Dean-"

"S-Sam-my, fir-st," between breaths, red speckling in between his freckles as the blood left his mouth and splattered back onto him.

He brought a hand to clutch at the sleeve of Castiel's coat.

"Please."

\---

                That car ride back was silent, Sam quietly sleeping in the backseat, wrapped in Dean's leather jacket.

                Castiel sat in the passenger side, legs and arms pressed together, watching as the grassy lands bled through into the distance. Phone lines casting sharp shadows against the dashboard of the car.

                There underneath the hum of the engine, the soft glint of the moon on the black glossy paint, barely noticeable underneath the blooming bruises of Castiel's wrists was a soft,

"Thank you"

                Castiel turned to look at Dean, his hair stained with silver light, chest even breaths, and eyes staring dead ahead.

That night the summer air soothed his bruises.

\----

"I do not understand Dean, why are we impersonating _any_ type of law enforcement."

Dean smirked through the overhead mirror as they pulled up at the Police Station in Chicago, Illinois.

                Both Sam and Dean were dressed in their FBI get-up, Sam rummaging through the glove department to pull out a tin box overflowing with different badges.

"Dean?" Castiel cocked his head to the side, eyes anxious as he looked back and forth between the boys.

"Found 'em yet?"

"M' looking" The sound of plastic shifting against the tin.

Dean tossed an arm around the seat, turning to face the Angel.

"Cause Caleb,-"

"It's Castiel, Dean." Sam motioning one ID badge in the air chastising him.

"Right, um, _Cas_ tiel."

The Angels face brightened up, biting his lower lip, bringing his hand the grip behind the front seat and lean in closer to Dean.

"Yes, Dean?"

_Clkty_

"Um-, back up a bit flamingo," The Angel moving back into the seat, eyes wide and attentive.

"Some cases we need to go undercover, figure out everything from an inside eye, you know?"

_Clickety-clack-ftangg_

"Found em!" Sam tossed the tin box shut, closing the glove compartment, both boys getting out of the car.

Castiel appeared by them suddenly, Dean flinching only slightly in surprise this time.

                The boys were adjusting their blue suits, pulling at the lapels of their shirts, and placing the black ID badges into their inside pocket. Dean smoothing Sam's hair back in an attempt to look older, knotting his tie for him.

"But this is lying Dean." Castiel furrowed his brows in confusion.

Dean smirked, coming towards Castiel.

"Well, us humans, when we want something really, really badly. We _lie."_

But this wasn't right, surely there was another way. They didn't need to-

Then all of a sudden Dean was touching him.

 He froze, watching Dean's hands as they smoothed the lapels of his trench coat, starting at the tops of his shoulders with a firm pressure.

Castiel didn't dare _breathe_ as they moved down his arms to pull at the sleeves, in an attempt to stretch out the deep seated wrinkles.

Castiel felt himself _shiver_ as Dean's finger tips grazed the tops of his hands, the pulse of grace threatening to glow under the skin, static, and arching up-

He took a step back, eyes wide.

"W-what are you doing?"

  Castiel felt the surge of grace within him, knotting in his lower stomach, working its wait up to tighten at his throat.

"Just stay still for a second, you heathen."

                Dean moved forwards, hands catching at the collar of his white shirt, buttoning the two top buttons Castiel always left open. He swallowed thickly as he felt Dean's finger tips graze the underside of his neck _(touching,)_ as he pulled up the collar, reaching behind to untwist the mess that was his tie _. (he's touching me,)_ He was sure Dean could feel the rush of blood through his veins, see the faint blue glow, heart beating.

 He felt a hand move underneath his coat lapel, grazing his chest slightly as it placed something inside.

 Dean was so close, his breath hot against the right side of his ear, his light hair fraying into his own dark strands and- _(touching me, so close, touching, touching-)_ He could feel eyelashes brushing against his skin.

Dean smelled like leather, gun powder, and salt.

                Castiel lips parted to sip at the summer of Dean's body, warming up his cheeks like sun hitting sand, scorching. His grace buzzing at the thin skin stretched around his wrists, itching. His eyes fluttering close _(don't stop)_ as Dean pulled at the thick material of his tie, the sound of the ridges of his fingerprints catching on the cotton loudly. He felt the fabric pull taunt against his neck, breath hitching slightly as he stumbled slightly forwards, opening to green eyes.

 

No one had ever been this close.

 

The grace inside him burning.

 

Wanting to reach out.

 

Castiel's throat was dry, he didn't have a damn thing  to say.

 

"Alright, look at me."

 

_(Anything.)_

 

**"Don't fuck this up."**

\----

 

"So when you found the bodies in the lake, did you see or smell anything out of the ordinary?"

"Seen lots of things, be specific."

 "S- _Ul-_ phur? or any Co- _LD_ spots?" Sam's voice cracking up a pitch, coughing in an attempt to cover it up.

**For real.**

"Aren't you a little _young_ to be in the FBI, son?"

                 The Detective sneered from behind his desk, pulling absent mindedly at his blue uniform, tiny crumbs of powdered donuts hitting the linoleum floor beneath his roll-y chair, breaking into smaller bits of sugar.

Dean flicked his eyes to the side and came back with a tight lipped smile.

"New recruits, you know how they are."

"-and _this_ one?"

Gesturing towards the Angel, body pressed into the corner, hands clutching the side of his coat, eyes wide, biting his lip nervously.

"He's shy."

"Ya'll sure an oddball team."

"Please sir, bear with us."

                He heard Castiel swallow harshly, walking over to stand next to where Dean was sitting. Dipping into his coat pocket, he pulled out the little black book, shakily flipping it to a new page.

Pen pressed and ready.

"Please, um, _sir_ , " Castiel began eyes shifting to meet Dean's, before starting up again, projecting in a deeper voice,  "Please tell us what you saw, anything at all, **we need to know**."

**No, please, god, that voice was terrible.**

The Detective smirked, tossing his booted feet onto the desk, scattering paperwork to the floor.

"Oh, yeah and why should I tell a little bird like you?

"Because we're the FBI..."  Castiel attempted, Dean rolling his eyes, trying to think of something to save this train wreck.

"Haven't even presented your wings out have you, fledgling? Can tell by the fresh eyed look all over your face What happened? you fall from heaven and the _Federal Government_ decided to catch you? _Typical_.. Don't be so worried birdie, _I don't bite._ "

 Castiel gripped the man by his boot covered ankle and lifted him up from the desk. Effectively dangling him upside down.

"Tell us everything. **Now.**

 **"** Put me down-"

"Caleb put the _damn_ detective down!"

Sam just stifled back his laughter.

Castiel looked at Dean, before dropping the man back on to the desk.

**Of all the Angels in heaven. _This one._**

"I'm so sorry, he's new to this whole doing things the bureau way and-"

"What do you want to know?"

===

"What was with the _prepubescent voice crack_ Sam? You're **_18_."**

**"Shut up."**

"And **you."** Dean pointed to the silent Angel in the backseat. "You need to stop getting all **feral birdie** on everyone!"

"Dean, he called me a fledgling I-"

Pulling the car into drive.

"If you'd keep your wings out, you wouldn't have that problem."

Castiel was silent.

"Like working with a bunch of kids, I swear-"

\---

The hunt had gone well.

Their search had led them to a psychic, a _telekinetic_ psychic, in the edge of town who was being possessed by a _demon._

Castiel had stopped the boys in front of the house.

"I will handle this one."

"The **hell** you are."

"Dean, she is a Demon, I am an _Angel_ , I cannot allow you to go in there."

"Oh shut it _Feather Face,_ she'd have your ass on a stick roasting over hells fire in seconds."

Dean shoved past him, Sam shrugging and following his brother.

After avoiding several flying objects they had captured the demon in a trap, and with a little Latin and a sprinkle of holy water, the psychic was now herself again.

No more bodies floating in Lake Michigan for Chicago anytime soon.

Dean was in a great mood because of it, deciding to eat out instead of fighting over a bag of Fritos back in the motel.

They were now pulling into the lot of a local diner joint.

                Castiel quieted his anticipating stomach with the power of his grace. It had been almost a month now that Dean had become his charge, whether he wanted him or not, and this was going to be it.

His first real venture into the human world, other than the Super Market

A Diner.

                He had read about Diners, that they were sort of like the Canteen in heaven, a gathering place for Human and Angel kind alike, filled with social cues and rituals that Castiel couldn't wait to observe up close, and _for real._

But Diner's had something heaven didn't have.

_Cheeseburgers._

He was so excited, that was, if Dean was going to bring him in, of course.

Dean suddenly appeared at the side window, tapping at the glass.

"So, you coming or not?"

 Then Castiel saw the pure blinding white of his brothers and sisters wings pass by behind Dean and his heart dropped to his stomach.

He hadn't seen them in _a month._

A month.

His grace shrank within him, Dean slowly coming out of focus as Castiel withdrew within himself.

                He had never been someone's Angel before, his brothers knew that. Were they even aware that Castiel had come to Earth? What would his brothers think?

_"Hey Birdbrain ya here me?"_

                What if they asked for Dean to report on Castiel's work as his guardian and he told them about how absolutely horrid he thought Castiel was, how could they send such a piss poor Angel down and force him to be bound to the useless freak for life?

_"I'm getting hungry here."_

                How disappointed would his brothers be, seeing the one chance they had given him and how poor he was handling it. Dean didn't even _like_ him, didn't even want Castiel in the same _room_ as him. But they were making progress, slow and little, but progress and Castiel was working so hard to be good for Dean, so damn hard, but what if-

What if his brothers were disappointed in him anyway.

_BAM-BANG_

Castiel jolted out of his head space, watching as Dean banged the hood of the Impala.

"You coming?"

Dean wanted him to join them.

But Castiel didn't know what to expect.

He nodded at Dean through the glass window.

He wanted to go.

"Get out then, _Jesus."_

And he did, tentatively pulling and pushing at the doors handle and exiting the human way.

No zapping, no tricks.

                Dean had raised his eyebrows before shaking his head and walking towards the entrance, Sam stretching out his limbs as they moved.

Castiel walked stiffly, eyes straight ahead, shoulders tight and fingers pulling at the hem of his sleeve, nails digging at the inner stitch.

Maybe his brothers wouldn't recognize him.

 Porcelain mugs clinked softly in the hive mind of forks scraping against tenderized meat, rustling of wings, a child's complaint and a high pitched snicker.

Castiel walked stiff steps behind Sam and Dean, black loafers barely grazing the tiles, not daring to make a sound. The haze of cheap light fixtures and neon booth seats harsh on his eyes, as a waitress urged them on. A loose bow over the small of her back where her apron rested teasing to fall.

There were a lot of people here, Angels and Humans.

                Castiel swallowed thickly, eyes shifting as she led them to their table. The nylon of the booth scratching at the back of his trousers, his veins pulsing with static electricity as he sat down.

Castiel took up the menu from the table, face pressed into the Xeroxed image of the daily deluxe special.

                His grace burying itself deeper within the pit of his stomach. Castiel licked his lips, pressing his limbs tight against his body, hunching slightly over in an effort to shrink himself.

He stared at the pixilated French fries, asking his heart to calm down.

"You do eat right?" Dean called over his own menu before plopping it down on the table, green eyes turned towards him as Castiel slipped deeper behind his menu nodding.

"What's going on you suddenly mute? first spacing out in the car and now your all mute-"

"So it _is_ true."

The three turned to look at the tall Angel casting shadows on the pale wood of their table. White wings spreading out behind her.

Castiel shrank in his seat.

Oh _no._

"The little crow walks the earth."

"She a friend of yours Caleb."

Castiel flinched.

Couldn't Dean just remember his name this _one_ time?

The Angel didn't even try to conceal her smirk as her pearly wings rose up, the top feathers glistening as they shifted.

 Sam's eyes shifted between Castiel and the Angel, his body hunched over, fingers pulling his sleeves over his hands as he lowered his eyes.

"Hello, Hannah."

\---

 Dean watched as this _Hannah_ pulled up a damn chair up to their booth.

                Sam was getting inflicted with _Damn Angel Syndrome_ again, asking questions at a spitfire rate, offering his hand out for a shake when Hannah looked towards Caleb.

"Crow, _do_ have manners and introduce me to your Humans."

                The Flamingo jolted up in his seat, eyes looking anxiously between Dean and Sam, before lowering his eyes to his lap. His voice barely above a whisper.

"Hannah, this is my c-charge D-dean, and his bro-"

Taking a deep breath, eyes flittering close in focus.

"His brother Sam."

Hannah's wings twitched in what Dean could swear was amusement.

**What the hell was going on?**

                Where was _badass mother-pigeon Angel_? The one that has been a **pain in the ass** , trailing after Dean and Sam on their hunts? Fighting with Dean literally every step of the way, stubbornly waiting in the damn heat for days on end for Dean to come outside and wash the Impala. Asking constantly to be given the chance to prove himself to him?

Where was **Feral Birdie** clawing away while Dean tried to hold back the leash?

Who the hell was this _meek_ motherfucker?

Hannah chuckled, propping her elbows up on the table, chin in her palms. The wing spread themselves by her sides, twitching as they stretched up and down, showing the undersides to the boys.

In an act of fucking _display._

                Caleb recoiled, hunching his shoulders inwards, the collar of his trench coat grazing his cheeks as he looked down.

This woman was _showing off_ her pigeon parts.

**Why?**

Humming lightly, she turned to eye Dean.

                "So you're his little human, oh Crow, he looks _strong_ , must have you set up all nice. How is it having a room? different from a nest isn't it? But it has been a month since you've fell from the clouds, I'm sure you've adjusted, maybe even prefer it. You always did wonder how the humans lived, I mean there is only so much our books can provide."

"Yes, my station is quite nice, but it is not a room." The Angel spoke low, eyes burning holes into the knotted surface of the table.

"Oh? Is that so?"

"Yes, it is very airy and spacious."

"You must feel like a real Angel now, walking the earth, assisting your charge-"

**Wait a second.**

Real Angel? Charge?

"You've got it wrong, Hannah."

"Oh?"

"I'm _nobody's_ human, especially his."

He could hear the squeak of the nylon as Castiel flinched back.

                "Trouble in paradise I see, well its only to be expected. I apologize on heavens behalf for the burden Dean. I assure you he was not our top choice."

**Where did this bitch get off?**

                Dean squinted his eyes as the Angel's white feathers spread out, idly making patterns in the air around them. Watching as Caleb shrunk further in his seat, breathing harsh, eyes clenched.

"He must be so clumsy, he was always so clumsy in Heaven-"

Pulling at his tie.

"- and the questions he'd ask about your kind! He asked why God hadn't given you _wings?_ Can you imagine, an Angel questioning God's creations!-"

Digging his nails into his palm.

"-and word on Angel Radio is that you boys are _hunters_ , must be positively awful having little Crow around-"

Flinching at the words.

"- I guess he has no place with you, worthless really-"

When it hit him.

**Damn.**

Caleb was having a damn panic attack.

"Why? are **you** any better? I see all you puffed up chickens as exactly the same. Annoying, self absorbed, pricks! I wish you'd all just leave us alone!"

Hannah's eyebrows flashed up, smiling a full smile as she batted her lashes at him.

**Shit. Wait.**

That didn't come out how he had meant it to.

"Crow, can't you see your human is _bothered_ by you, but yet, you have the _audacity_ to intrude on his meal."

Caleb suddenly stood up, blue eyes meeting Deans.

Chest heaving, hands raised.

_Shaking._

"Cale-"

"Dean- Dean I-I shall wait out by the vehicle."

Sam stood up aiming to grab at his coat-

"I apologize for imposing."

His hand falling into empty space.

\---

He was hyperventilating.

                Twenty feet away from _Dean,_ at the Diner, with _Sam_ , with _Hannah_ , with **Dean** , who was probably mouthing off about how _piss-poor_ of a job Castiel had been doing and why had they bothered to send him in the first place, and **damn it** why couldn't Dean remember his _name_ -it was _three_ syllables for Christ's sake, and-

_Taking a sharp inhale._

                Dean was probably asking how he could send Castiel _back_ , back to heaven, in absolute disgrace, worse than before, and _hadn't_ he been doing a good job? Hadn't he done all that was required of him? He let Dean continue hunting _despite_ the massive risk towards his ever fluctuating living status, he helped Sam research and sharpen weapons, he had even went out to purchase a new battery for their laptop at _5 AM_ when Sam distressfully groaned out that Dean had fried it watching Busty Asian Cartoon Porn. Which Castiel didn't understand the slew of words in that sentence and its connotations, but he had flown out and gotten the battery, hadn't he? He had healed Sam _before_ Dean, when Dean had asked, despite the massive injuries he had sustained, despite that _Dean's_ life was more in danger, he had done it. Against his better judgment, **he had done it**. Because Dean had **asked** it-

_Another deep breath._

                But somewhere along the way he had messed up again. He was the **Crow** after all, clumsy and awful and dumb. Hannah was right, he was _burdening_ Dean. Maybe the boys had been lying to him, maybe Sam was kidding when he asked for his help researching what a Topa was. He was a bad FBI agent, and he had lied, lied for Dean, and he had been _terrified_. Castiel had never lied before, never had the need to.

_Air forcing its way out of his throat._

Why couldn't Dean have _lied?_

Why couldn't he have said to Hannah that Castiel was _okay._

Why couldn't he say that while Castiel wasn't ideal, he was _good enough._

                Now Hannah was going to tell all of Heaven how the **Crow** managed to make his _first and only human_ hate him.

They were going to see that he was a failure.

The light glinted off the 1967 Chevy Impala and into his eyes as he stopped pacing.

Castiel approached the car with heavy breaths, chest tight, and hands shaking.

                He was much like the car Dean cherished. They both waited patiently hour after hour. They both stayed outside the bunker. They both assisted with hunts.

But the Impala had a _place_ with Dean.

Castiel did not.

**Stupid.**

**Stupid Crow.**

Castiel placed a hand on the impala, breath shaky.

The car creaked under his hand.

He tried to remember his stubborn resolve.

He couldn't find it.

He would just have to try harder.

"He has to need me."

Drip of motor oil on the pavement below.

"It will be okay."

\----

That night it rained outside their motel.

Castiel watching the harsh drops splashing onto the hood of the Impala.

_Pitter-patter-pitter-patter-splat_

                Dean had ran out, handing Castiel an umbrella, advising him to at least get underneath the barely there scaffolding of the building.

_Pitter-pitter-patter_

He looked at Castiel, eyes glowing faintly from the overhead street lamp.

"Why didn't you get mad?"

Rain drops streaking down his cheeks, beading on his hair, smoothing down the pores.

Eroding him.

A roar of thunder drowning out his voice.

_"Because she was right."_

\----

"You got in the way today."

"Dean."

"You _did_ , you didn't listen to orders at all."

"But the monster got killed Dean, and you were okay."

"I apologize Dean."

"I thought you were the one supposed to be protecting me, not the other way around, Birdbrain."

Castiel felt his stomach drop.

He wasn't feeling well, after his panic attack at the diner, he knew he was almost at his limit. Today had been a testament to that, practically falling into the monsters grasp until Dean came and pushed him out of the way. Castiel's energy was fading. Using his grace to meet and suppress all his bodily needs wasn't helping anymore. But **No,** he was an Angel. He could do this. He didn't have time to rest, he had to be here, for Dean.  In case Dean needed him.

He didn't have much practice using his grace this way, but no- he could do it. For Dean. 

He needed food.

He needed sleep.

He needed to be useful.

He didn't know what he was going to do.

\---

"Get off my baby, you little feathered fuck."

Dean slammed the bunker door closed, running out in his grey robe loosely tied to his form.

"Dean!"

"I saw you on our security cameras,  where do you get off sitting on the hood of my baby Caleb?"

"Castiel.." he replied weakly, shifting off the hood of the car, and landing bluntly on his feet.

"Seriously, you are going to scratch the paint with your beak."

"I-I do not possess a beak" Castiel replied wobbly.

He was so tired, and the sun was so hot, and Dean's voice was so _loud._

                Sitting had provided some relief, but now, now he was standing again. His knew his face was flushed, beads of sweat forming between his brows as the morning sun hit them. His stomach was in knots, but he couldn't take rest now.

Dean, for **Dean.**

He pushed and spread his grace wide around him, trying to cool himself and his hunger for food and rest, but it just disbanded all around him. Barely any power was left, but still-

  
"Dean, Dean.."sounding a bit feverish,  "Do- do you _need_ me?"

"No."

Dean stormed back to the bunker door.

"And don't _ever_ sit on Baby again."

Slamming it shut.

\----

"Dean, he didn't seem all that well before, but now he looks a lot worse."

**"So."**

"He might need our help or something."

**"And."**

"You're worried for him aren't you?"

 **"Fuck no,** I just want him to stop being a damn garden gnome in our front yard. "

                Sam scoffed and walked away as Dean watched the security cameras with fury. The figure of Caleb stationary as it always was these past weeks.

                Dean didn't care. He didn't ask Castiel to stand there day and night for the past month. The Celestial Cockatoo decided that for himself. It wasn't _Dean's_ problem. _Sure_ the Angel had looked a little green earlier, and **_wait_** , why out of all the days did Castiel decide to sit on the impala _today_? That was unusual for him, and he _did_ seem out of breath on the hunt today, a little out of speed and-

But Dean was not worried.

But then the Angel swayed.

Just _slightly_ , a bit to the right, catching his head in his hands as if a dizzy spell had hit him.

Dean leaned back into his seat.

                So the Angel swayed, big whoop, maybe he was trying to do some mating dance for a couple of pretty canaries, or something.

He **wasn't** worried.

He swayed to the left.

Dean peered closely as the Angel clutched at his coat in an attempt to steady himself.

\----

                He was _so dizzy_ , so, so dizzy- and he missed _heaven_ , and his _nest_ , and he had spent all this time on Earth and still hadn't had a _cheeseburger._ He faltered a bit, breathing hard. He wanted his nest, the soft pillow-y walls, covered in his scent. _Soft, and comforting, and home_ , he wanted to go _home so **bad.**_ He wanted to wake up in _his_ nest, shake the feathers off, walk to the canteen, and wait on the line for the breakfast of milk and bread. He wanted to find his usual spot away from all, underneath a highly arched _cloud._ Clouds were so much nicer than dirt and asphalt, and the air here was so heavy, and thick, and the memories that were attached to every hydrogen, carbon dioxide and oxygen molecule kept rushing at him, and -

He wouldn't even race to the dessert line at dinner if he was back home.

Castiel was sorry he had even had that cake at all, it was the cakes fault, the cakes fault that day had been a good day. The damn cake.

Castiel knew he shouldn't be allowed to have cake, maybe if he vowed never to eat cake again, they would take him back, back to heaven.

But **Dean.**

Dean **needed** him, he needed _him._

_Needs me, needs me, need, need, need me, need him to need **me**._

**_I don't want to fail._ **

That is when the Angel hit the ground, trench coat splayed around him.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Castiel has fallen.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy lovelies


	8. Dreams are Fears Resting

_The gasps around him as Zuriel pulled on his wings brought a prideful smile to Castiel's face, all the Host staring at his wings, him, an angel finally._

_His heart hammered with anticipation, the whispers around him deafening._

_He imagined his wings to be so beautiful and pure that they shocked the whole host, he imagined the millennia to come of soft touches of his family grooming him, building his first nest, finding a mate, being assigned his human charge, being a freaking angel._

_What he did not expect was the sudden deafening silence, and the large, very winged shaped, shadows that darkened his peripheral vision._

_He looked at the shadows, curling and flexing around him._

_Bringing a quite horror on to him._

_What were these shadows? Why did it look as though they were an angels wings? Were they being attacked? Had Lucifer escaped the cage?_

_What the hell were these shadows?_

_Zuriel looked at Castiel, his eyes wide and searching. Castiel looked towards his family, their faces contorted in confusion, worry, horror, disgust-_

_His heart was bruising against his rib cage, when he finally turned to look at what everyone was so horrified about._

_That's when the shadows moved with him._

_Gasps echoed as Castiel continued to move, running himself in circles._

_Stopping, and reaching gently towards a shadowed tendril, grasping it._

_Castiel took a sharp breath, as he realized these shadows were a part of him._

_No,no,no,no_

_Castiel_ _looked up in disbelief, holding his newly formed feathers in his right hand, and took a step towards his family._

_The Angels all took a step back in unison._

_He was surrounded by fledglings holding their own crystal white wings close to their sides, as if they could be infected with the negative space that was his existence._

_He took another step forward, and they took another backwards._

_Eyes clouded with confusion, the veins in his neck pulsating underneath the skin, hand gripping the disgusting feathers, his feathers tighter._

_His mouth twitching, when he met their eyes, glazed over in quite disgust, Castiel pulled his wings tight over his body, curling into himself._

_Shoulders shaking._

_Different_

_Took a handful of his grotesque feathers._

_Disgusting_

_Tightening his grip._

_Horrifying_

_Crushing them._

_What is he?_

_krrrr-_

_Is he a demon?_

_krrrrr-crack_

_He is no brother of mine._

_He crushed the sensitive new extensions of his grace, and started  to rip them out, splitting them down the spine, screaming._

_Feathers spilled everywhere as he tore himself apart, anguish filled calls, as they fell._

_Mutilating himself._

_Freak, freak, freak_

_Mutilating his grace._

_freak, freak, freak, freak-_

_Gabriel suddenly was there, holding his arms to his sides, shadows flowing softly around them, settling on his shirt._

_Held him down, held him close._

_"Oh Cassie...."_

_He sobbed and sobbed._

_Cover me, comfort me, hide me,_

_Wipe me away._

_\----_

_Castiel stood in the center of the council, wings stark against the pristine white marble._

_"So he's chocolate, and not vanilla, Michael. So what! Heaven could use a little more chocolate."_

_"Gabriel, is he even an angel?"_

_He flinched._

_"Of course he's an angel."_

_Gabriel's voice echoed against the marble._

_"This is ridiculous."_

_Grabbing Castiel's wrist he flew them out of the hall._

_"Gabe..."_

_"Don't, don't listen to them Cassie."_

_"Gabriel.."_

_"You're an angel, you're an angel-"_

_"Gabe- Gabriel-"_

_Fat tears rolling down his cheeks._

_"Cassie, no, no, you're an angel, you are."_

_Pulling him into his arms, he called out desperately through his sobs for his brother, clutching at his sides._

_Cover me, hide me, take me away._

_\---_

_They refused to touch him._

_Standing alone, looking down at the square as they laughed._

_It was The First Molt after all._

_Taking his feathers, now dull and less fluffy, he wrapped them around himself. A plume of them falling into the clouds bellow him, like ink splattering onto a white page._

_He wished he could disappear._

_"And where do you think you're going Cassie-boy."_

_He didn't answer him._

_"Today is your first molt."_

_Hurt so much, aching._

_He nodded, black hair falling into his eyes._

_"Well the ceremony is the other way."_

_"Gabriel I-"_

_"Come on."_

_Gabriel grabbed him by the arm._

_He gasped._

_It had been two weeks._

_Nobody had touched him in two weeks._

_Gabriel dragged him through the clouds, puffs of cumulus bursting into nothingness around them._

_This wasn't a good idea._

_He heard the chatter and laughter getting closer and closer, until it suddenly went quiet._

_Castiel's heart stammered in his chest._

_Freak, strange, wrong,_

_"-looks like a crow."_

_"Sit."_

_Gabriel had pulled them into the center of the square._

_"Come."_

_He then sat Castiel between his legs, chest flush to his back._

_Carded through his feathers, grooming him. Touching, touching,  touching me-_

_Castiel was hyperventilating._

_"Relax,"_

_Shutting his eyes._

_Hide me, make me disappear._

_"I'm here, and guess what?"_

_"What?" voice barely a whisper._

_"You are my brother, and I love you."_

_\---_

_"You know on Earth humans mutilate themselves to be different."_

_"Really?"_

_"Yes, they pierce their skin with needles and ink to draw pictures, impale strange metals into their ears, dye their hair rainbows. On Earth no one wants to be the same."_

_First smile in months._

_\---_

_Gabriel handed him a black book._

_"Why is it empty Gabriel?"_

_"You write in it."_

_"I don't understand."_

_"You fill it up."_

_Handing him a pen._

_"Why?"_

_"Because Cassie, you're different. This book is just like you., full of potential, potential for stories, thoughts, drawings, ideas." Gripping his shoulders tight, "You have ideas, you have thoughts, you see things, and a blank book is just what you need. You need to fill it up with everything you think of, and it will be like you are telling them to me, okay?  Every time you write in this book, I will hear you. You aren't alone, okay Cassie. You aren't. I'm right here, I will always be right here."_

_"Gabriel-"_

_"Castiel, I love you."_

_Wet cheeks glistening,_

_"Gabriel, don't go, he's safe now, don't go please, I need you."_

_Don't leave._

_Pulling Castiel close,_

_"Don't let anyone ever make you feel like you don't deserve what you want."_

_\---_

_When Gabriel left Heaven,  Castiel called after him nonstop for hours from the edge of the clouds._

_His throat was hoarse for weeks._

_I can't do it without my brother, he wrote, I can't do it without you, but I'll try._

_I'll try._

_\---_

_Castiel poured himself wholly into his training, he learned to ignore the constant calls of crow, demon-_

_Working and working, fighting for his purpose._

_"Why are you even trying-"_

_To be an Angel, an honorable Angel._

_"-quit getting in the way-"_

_Like his Big Brother._

_"-you're worthless-"_

_To help the humans._

_"-freak."_

_And then he had reached 100 years and he was finally ready._

_Making his way with the rest to the first assignment ceremony, he was pulled out of the line by Michael._

_"You didn't pass."_

_Their laughter._

_"-useless-"_

_I'll try harder, he wrote._

_Another 100 years._

_"You are too slow of a flyer."_

_Dread, horror, loathing._

_"You aren't a strong enough fighter"_

_Bitterness, fury._

_Another and Castiel snapped._

_"What is it really Michael! It's been 400 years! Uriel gets to go and he didn't even pass basic sparring! I am barely a fledgling anymore!"_

_"Castiel, it's you"_

_"What?"_

_"We can't ever use you."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because of what you are."_

_"No-"_

_"Castiel-"_

_"That's ridiculous and you know it!"_

_"Castiel, you are not going and that is final, it's been decided."_

_"I'm an Angel!"_

_"Castiel-"_

_"I am an angel Michael!"  Wings flaring out to shred at the clouds around them._

_Michael beat him into the clouds, harsh fist connecting with his jaw over and over, red splattering the clouds beneath him, seeping through and dripping onto the sky._

_You're a crow._

_You're a crow._

_You're a crow._

_A crow amongst doves._

_A freak._

 

_Blood dripped on the pages._

_\---_

_Castiel was up bright and early the next morning in Human Relations 101, wearing a black eye and a busted lip._

_He would gain their affections, their trust, he would prove he was one of them._

_He would prove he was better than all of them._

_He heard Gabriel's words._

_"Don't let anyone ever make you feel like you don't deserve what you want."_

_\---_

_500 years and the inevitable happening._

_He had developed a crush._

_She was different too._

_Her red hair celebrated._

_He asked her to go for a walk in the garden the next day._

_She agreed._

_She wasn't there._

_They told him that she had said there was a difference, and then there was being different._

_That Anna was nothing like him._

_"Why do you always have to be such a nuisance?"_

_Clutching at his head, rocking back and forth, he covered himself with his wings, knocking the pad of his hand against his forehead._

_Stupid, stupid, foolish-_

_"This is your own fault, you always get in the way."_

_stupid, stupid-_

_"I-I'm sorry-"_

_Hitting him._

_"Shut the hell up."_

_Smothering his face into a patch of roses, thorns cutting at his cheeks._

_"I'm sorry, I'm so stupid, I'll never do it again, I'm sorry-"_

_"You're an embarrassment."_

_"If you weren't so useless, all of heaven would be much happier."_

_I want to disappear._

_He curled into his nest, curled on his side, clutching the book, calling out for his brother._

_Come back, come back, come back._

_\---_

_He got up, blooming yellow all over his body, and went to the canteen._

_Bits of bread bouncing off his back._

 

\---

_He hid underneath the arched clouds, pushing himself deep within, condensed water moistening his cheeks, he tried to ease his heaving chest with deep even breaths._

_Flipping open the pages._

_Pen flush._

_He wrote,_

_Brother, I miss you._

_Brother, I am not-_

_The ink seeped in._

_Taking a deep breath._

_Everything is fine._

_I love you._

_I am working hard._

_\---_

_The stars lit the book in his lap._

_Today Gabriel, today was the best day of my life._

_I have a human Gabriel, can you believe it?_

_I'm a real Angel now, like you._  

 


	9. Rosemary Potatoes

_Castiel slipped through the clouds._

_Falling._

_Falling._

_Falling._

He landed on his back with a sharp gasp, metal springs creaking beneath him.

Jolting up, and raking fingers through his oily scalp, the grit of dirt catching underneath his nails.

 _Dizzy_ , still _so_ dizzy.

The color drained through his vision as he fell back onto his side, breath pulled out from his lips in tight gasps, as the world, kaleidoscopic, swelled with darkness.

Buzzing in his veins.

                Eyes lazily opening and closing, he attempted to adjust to the damp ochre light licking at his skin. He swallowed, metal and sand tearing at his throat, focusing on the plaid pattern beneath him, shifting in its vertigo.

"Where.."

He quickly observed his surroundings, palms indenting the soft mattress as he pushed himself up.

The room swayed, lamp on the bedside table buzzing with jagged electricity, filling the air with static.

His skin prickled with it bareness, shivering.

_My coat._

                There it was, folded neatly on a wooden chair. He hobbled over, reaching for the tan fabric, vision crashing, the wood creaking underneath him as his hands caught the chairs edge. Shaky bones letting loose as the blood rushed into the back of his skull, paralyzing him on the way down to the floor.

                Universe a flickering shade of grey as he rose, elbows braced against the chair, as he laid a cheek to cool against its surface, feet heavy, his shoes scrapped the floor with a hiss.

                Damp skin caught at the sleeves as he slid the coat over his shoulders, breaths deep, buttons indenting dots into his clammy hands as they went to guard the fabric. Stabilizing himself.

His stomach dropped as the room became a blur of plaid and brick, knees hitting the concrete with a _crack_ and a hitched groan.

_Damn._

This was not anywhere _near_ the Impala.

Figuring out where he was wasn't all that important, figuring out if it was a _dangerous_ place was.

Now if he could only just steady himself.

Pushing at his grace, the pale glow quieted his dizziness slightly, a buzz warming the skin behind his ears.

This was bad.

He needed to get back to the impala.

His chest dropped, knees grinding into the cement.

_**Dean.** _

What if Dean _needed_ him and Castiel _wasn't_ there.

He felt eternally falling, eyes dazed as his limp body moved towards the door, tentatively grasping the brass knob, surprised to find it wasn't locked.

He closed the door behind him, palms leaving a foggy mark as he leaned against the tiled walls of the bright hallway. Finger tips tingling as his pulse beat dully in his ears.

_He needed to find Dean._

          The dizziness fought at his grace, green pushing at the blue, snapping the resistance and absorbing it whole, he swerved, leaning his body against the tiles, he slid down to meet the floor.

Eyes clenched shut as he dry heaved.

"-been three hours, should we, um, call a Doctor or something?"

Clouded eyes looked down the hall.

_**Dean.** _

He got up, hands on the wall supporting him as he moved towards the voices, pulling out his blade, trembling hands causing it to clink against the tiles.

_Dean, was Dean hurt?_

Blood rushed behind his ears, drowning his brain in darkness.

"-look who's all worried-"

_Focus Castiel._

**"-Shut, up-"**

         Castiel slumped into the room, blade barely poised, ready to strike when he saw Sam rifling through various texts, Angelic sigils on their covers, Dean biting at his fingernails.

" _Dean,_ Sam. Where-"

He dropped his blade to the ground with a _clank._

"Wh-where are we? Where is the-"

His vision swirling.

Dean's wide eyes a prismatic shard. 

"the en-enemy?"

\---

Dean was fucking pissed.

**This idiot.**

He had _just_ gotten up and he was _already_ asking where the **enemy** was.

"Dean, are you- are you _harmed_?"

Dean felt his stomach tighten.

**Fuck.**

                The Angel's skin was pale and gray, as if pulse on mute, circles swallowing up his sockets, cheeks sharp, slicing against the air as he staggered back and forth. Castiel's hair was slick with oil and the general outside, matted down in glossy patches. His chapped lips were parted, tongue darting out to sip shallowly at the air.  His breaths uneven as he wobbly moved closer to Dean, trying to force his eyes to stay open, the color a damp and glazed grey.

**Sick.**

_I didn't do that to him._

**Fragile.** _  
_

_It wasn't me._

                Sam placed a gentle hand on Castiel's shoulder to steady him, the Bird practically _dipped_ under Sam's palm. The Angel flinched back, trench coat swallowing him up, the collar hitting the flushed bottoms of his ears as he ducked under the contact, and Caleb-no _Castiel_ , he looked so-

**"Sam, don't touch him."**

Couldn't Sam take a damn hint.

"Shit, sorry, Castiel how are you feeling?"

The Angels focus swayed between them, swallowing harshly as he looked back at Dean. He could see the sallow skin clearer now, blue veins pushing at the surface, panting and hunched over slightly with the weight of fatigue.

"What happened Dean?" He rasped out, followed by a slow breath.

**Shit.**

**It wasn't his fault.**

Clenching his fists.

He wanted to yell at him _so bad._

"You collapsed, _that's_ what happened."

"Oh."

The pigeon ducked his head, swaying slightly.

**It wasn't me.**

" _Oh?_ really you've been out for _three hours_ and all you say is **oh**?"

The Angel picked and pulled at his backwards tie, taking a long shaky breath. Fingers ghostly against the blue fabric. Words forcing their way through,

"I apologize Dean, I must have overexerted my grace."

_"What?"_

"My grace. "

What did he mean his _grace._

"And why would that happen?"

"I was-" swallowing hard, eyes glazed and hooded, " -was using it to suppress certain things."

**Shit.**

"Like?"

The Angel swallowed dryly.

"What type of things Castiel?"

"Hunger, rest...sleep."

**What the fuck.**

"And why would you do that?"

Castiel hunched over, knees trembling slightly, and Dean spread out his palms, poised and ready to catch him.

**Fuck, shit.**

"I wanted to be available."

His heart dropped.

**Not my faul-**

"Why would you do that?" Dean asked softly, afraid his breath would knock the idiot over.

"In case you needed me Dean."

The words pierced him, ripping his stomach open, the acid searing into his outer organs, pooling with blood, horrid and heavy.

He looked away.

**Shit, shit, shit, shit.**

Sam looked towards the floor with glossy eyes, tracing the intricate fleur-de-lys around his grey socks.

**Seared at the bottom of his lungs.**

"Dean, where are we?" Lower lip going slack as he breathed in heavy, the fleshy parts blue.

**It burned, scalding his intestines.**

"You collapsed outside, so we brought you in."

**Singeing at his soul.**

"In? in where?" Eyes fluttering, fighting to stay open.

**Cauterized and branded him.**

"The bunker."

Castiel 's eyes shot open, the grey skin pulled taunt over his sockets, wide, and fearful, the muted blue twisting, as recognition slammed into him, knees shaking as he wavered.

He moved forwards to catch him.

"Dean! _I am so sorry_!" Castiel tried to pace around the library, his awkward shuffle and blanched face looking everywhere.

**Blisters bubbling at the skin.**

"Castiel, what are you doing?" Sam asked with unease, reaching out to grab at him but stopping half way.

"W-where is the exit?" chest heaving, trembling fingers going up to claw at his cheeks, crescent moons indenting the skin. "I'm _so_ sorry Dean, I **know** you didn't want me inside the bunker." Breath sharp and gut wrenching.

 _Panic attack,_ he was having another panic attack.

Like at the diner.

"Hey Big Bird wait-"

" _Where is it?_ I'm so _sorry_ Dean, so _stupid_ of me-" striking a closed fist against his skull, over and over.

Punishing.

"-sorry, I'm sorry-"

He was _scared._

"-can't find it, _so dumb_ , I can't find it-"

_Scared I'll be angry._

**His heart baking in it.**

"I- I'll just fly out, _please be patient Dean_."

                Dean saw the wave of exhaustion hit him, attacking his weak ankles, ricocheting up to his unsteady knees, tilting his slender hips, spine collapsing as his damp hair fell around him on his way to the marble floor with a small gasp.

**Shit.**

He caught him right before his knees hit the floor.

The Angel was cold to the touch, but that unfocused wary gaze burned at Dean, last inches of his own resistance smoldering.

Guilt reducing him to ash.

**This was all his fault, _all of it._**

"Shit, _shit_ , you okay?" Dean gently grasped at Castiel 's shoulders, hating how the Angel flinched. He cautiously steadied him, feeling the gasps of air harshly hitting the Angels lungs as the ribs pulled taunt. 

"Just- lead me to the door, I can rest at my station, I _apologize_ D-dean-"

Body burning in the afterglow.

The ashes ached at the words.

His _station_ , the one he had told that _Hannah_ about. _Airy and spacious,_ he had described it, almost proudly through hushed words.  As if staying outside through the heat was _required_ of him, and he was _glad_ for it.

He had made it that way.

He had done this, being the arrogant, stubborn _prick_ he knew himself to be.

" _I'm sorry, I'm sorry,-"_

                He looked at the dry lips, blue and slack, breath tight, hands clutching at his chest as he breathed  the words over and over. It echoing at the shelves, leather books shifting against one another gently at the sound, authors groaning at the slight friction.

_"- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm **so** sorry-"_

Voice breaking.

The fool had been suppressing his needs to the point of collapse.

 Just in case Dean needed him.

Available at any moment.

For a month.

Because of _him._

Look at him.

**This is all your fault.**

"You aren't going anywhere."

 Dean gripped the trembling shoulders, feeling the shallow press of the bones beneath the tan coat.

So small, he felt so small.

"Dean, please, I- I do not want to burden you any further-" His breaths tight and harsh, barely getting the words out.

**"Shut up."**

"Dean, please, _I-I'm sorry-_ I was stupid, _so_ stupid, useless-"

He caught the wrist that went to slam at the birds already broken head.

**"Get in that stupid room and rest before I trap you in holy fire and force feed you cake."**

Those stupid wide eyes stilled, hazy.

He was borderline delusional with fatigue and anxiety.

"Earth has cake?"

The Angel staggered.

"Come on, I've got you."

Dean brought him to lay on the puckered up plaid, the bird immediately nodding out.

Hot coals burned within him.

_My fault._

\---

"I'm sorry Dean."

Dean woke Castiel to come to the kitchen after a couple hours,("Sam, do-um, do you think Caleb should eat?""Dean its Castiel, and yeah I do." "Right.") placing an over-sized bowl of pasta on the table.

His skin was still so sallow, but his eyes looked less glazed over, as he tentatively sat down.

"I didn't even know angels needed to eat."

Dean swallowed the knot at his throat, he hadn't known, _he hadn't._

_It was only a basic need of every living thing in existence, but that didn't change anything._

"Not as often as Humans do, our grace can suppress many needs."

"Yeah well, don't do it again, alright? Just go whip up something to eat, can't you magic it with your grace or something?"

Castiel shook his head.

"No, only archangels can manifest things out of thin air."

**Right.**

Castiel's hands shook as he tentatively took the fork in his hand.

**Fuck.**

"So why didn't you just _buy_ something."

"I do not have any money."

**_I should have known that._ **

**_My fault._ **

_**Mine.** _ _  
_

"So, um, just tell _me_ next time."

**He couldn't believe he was saying this shit.**

Cheeks warming slightly.

"-or Sam." He added.

**Fuck.**

"Dean, I am sorry," He was hunched over, wrapping his arms around his thin shoulders. The white button down pulling taunt over his back.

**Shut up, just shut up.**

 "I am supposed to be the one caring for _you._ " Looking towards him with heavy grey eyes.

**Fire.**

"Yeah, well," digging his hands into his thigh, " _get better first_ and _then_ we'll talk about it"

Castiel smiled softly,  grey skin pulling tight at the corners.

 "Thank you for the meal Dean." He breathed out.

Okay, now was his cue to leave, getting up from the chair. Let the bird pick at the pasta and get some rest, and-

**_Clink-ka-link_ **

The fork clinked against the ceramic as his hand shook, trying to pick up the pasta.

**_Clink-link-cli-_ **

He really should go, talk to Sam and figure out what they were going to do-

**_Clink-ka-clink-clink-_ **

Dean sat down.

 He swallowed thickly, running his thumb against the knotted wood, splintering into his skin, as he tapped his fingers against the grain.

**Fuck.**

Castiel brought the small tendrils of wheat up, shaded eyes looking at it peculiarly, before swallowing it. His eyes going wide in delight.

"Dean! What is this? It's-it's delicious!"

His stomach dropped.

It was plain pasta, they hadn't had any sauce in the cupboard.

Dean knew it tasted absolutely bland, but here the Angel was, gulping it down as if it was a five star meal.

**The blisters inside throbbed.**

"That's-um, the linguine."

"What?" Castiel looked up at him with dazed eyes.

**Indulge him.**

"The linguine we bought together."

Castiel bit his smile back, shoulders shifting underneath his white button down, as he brought another fork full to his mouth.

**Shit.**

"So, um, how are you _feeling_?" Dean asked awkwardly, shoving down a swirl of pasta to shut himself up.

He _wasn't supposed_ to care.

But he couldn't _not_ ask.

Castiel eyes went wide, the circles deepening his sockets, making the blue bright, shifting in the seat.

"I-I should be okay after this."

 "What do you mean after _this_?"

Castiel placed his fork slowly into the bowl, eyes cast downwards.

"This should be enough to sustain me, I should be out by morning. I-if that would be alright."

**This little fucker.**

Dean slammed his fist on the table, Castiel recoiling into his seat.

"-o-or I- I could leave-um-" Castiel jumped up, grabbing at his trembling hands, chair screeching against the linoleum as he got up.

 "T-thank you Dean, I am well. I enjoyed the linguine. I-I shall be outside if you require any assistan-"

**"Sit your tail feathers down, Castiel."**

Castiel fell back into the chair.

Dean got up and went to one of the maple cupboards, slamming it open.

                He grabbed a large salad bowl, moved to the stove and poured all the remaining linguine from the metal pot into it, before settling it on the counter. He then moved to the fridge, looking for anything on its empty shelves. Finding some shredded mozzarella and taking a handful of Sam's green crap, he tossed them into the bowl.

 He slammed it down in front of the Angel, grabbed his hand forcefully and shoved the fork in to his grasp.

**"Shut the fuck up, and eat all of this now."**

"B-but Dean-"

**"That's a damn order."**

\---

 

Shit.

He wasn't supposed to care.

Dean curled up in his bed, military corners puckering up as he struggled to get comfortable, headphones whispering guitar riffs into his ears.

There was an Angel three doors down the hall.

He clicked the volume three times up.

How the _fuck_ did this happen.

_I'm an ass._

    He hadn't even thought about how the angel was doing, staring at him un-moving through the monitor for almost more than a month now, burning out Sam's laptop battery.

Leaving the idiot in the rain, in the heat, burning up.

He didn't care.

All because of how much of a stubborn ass he was.

_Stop shitting yourself._

_You know what this is really about._

He twisted in the covers, military corners forming out of regulation, as the song switched.

Dean was _ashamed_.

He was ashamed.

Ashamed that he had to be _saved_ , ashamed that he hadn't been strong _enough_ , smart _enough_ , just _enough_ to survive on his own.

Ashamed he had asked for help when the darkness was creeping in on him and a GED and a give'em hell attitude wasn't enough.

He had put Sammy in danger time and time again because he just wasn't enough, **_never_** enough.

He was so scared, every damn time the angel came near them, that Sam would turn to him and say, I _knew_ you weren't enough for us.

He was supposed to save, not be _saved_.

And now here he was, with the constant reminder of how _weak_ he was _three doors down_ , sleeping in a damn pedophile coat.

He rather had not been saved at all.

    Now he had to deal with this disgrace. What if other hunters found out that he had called for help? What if they looked at him as less of a man now? It had taken so long to prove himself after Dad died.

**Dad.**

_He would be so disappointed._

He had failed him _and_ Sammy, those blue eyes reminding him ever damn time.

    He couldn't handle that, almost thankful Castiel never showed his wings, because it would just prove to Dean how much better Castiel was than him, with his opalescent perfection, and godly purity, how much better he could take care of things.

It had always been _Dean's_ job to take care of things, for Sam, for Dad, for himself.

He didn't _need_ an angel on his shoulder protecting him like he was some weak little fairy.

So Dean had done what he had always done best.

Shut Castiel out.

    Dean ignored him, mocked him, said whatever he could to get rid of him, hoping the chicken would fly on back to heaven. He didn't want anyone to see the living proof of how weak he was, asking for help, from the _Angels_ , no less.

But then Sam had went and asked the angel to help _him_ instead, and Dean felt the doubts pour in.

What if he wasn't _enough_ for Sam anymore.

But he had shaken that off, no one was as good as a hunter, as a provider, for Sam then he was.

And then Castiel had saved Sam when Dean couldn't, protected Sam when Dean wasn't there, and Dean was thankful and resentful at the same time.

He didn't know how to feel.

This was an _Angel_ , how could he prove to Sam that they didn't _need_ an Angel.

He knew he couldn't because hell, he had been the one to call for help in the first place, and that ate him up inside.

And now he had proof of weakness three doors down.

    He _wasn't_ supposed to get involved, he had promised himself he wouldn't, but seeing the Angel sway back and forth, pixilated trench coat hitting the ground through the screen.

His mug had shattered on the marble tiles.

He had ran, slipping on the iron stairs, calling out for Sam to get the hell outside, cursed as he opened the bunker door, pebbles stabbing into the arch of his foot as he sped across the asphalt, the tips of his toes scorching on the hot ground.

    Then he saw him, limbs splayed out in the street, like a pigeon that'd been run over, wings pinned in the asphalt. His face pale, eyelashes glistening as sweat slid down the sharp angle of his cheek and dropped off the plane of his skin to stain the collar of his shirt. He heard his dry gasps as the scorch of asphalt rose in waves around him.

Sam helped him carry the Angel in, place him in one of the unused rooms, his skin covered in dirt and asphalt.

Dean had taken a cloth and wiped the dirt away

    It was strange, seeing the Angel who had been such an immovable force for weeks now, collapsed on the street. Castiel was stubborn, yelling at Dean, persistent, determined to wait out Dean's resistance.

To the point of collapse.

Castiel wasn't just an Angel, a divine wave of celestial intent powered by Jesus batteries.

No, he was like everyone else, with needs and weaknesses.

Limits.

And Dean knew that he had pushed the bird to his limit.

So what now? Buy a cage and some bird seed? What was he going to do _now_?

He sighed staring at the brick above him.

He wished someone would tell him what to do.

He slept with burning guilt warming up his sheets.

\---

Five days passed.

Castiel slept for most hours of the day, waking for meals when Dean gently rapt at the door demanding his presence.

"You don't even feed _me,_ this often Dean." Sam snickered.

So he had maxed out one of their many illegal credit cards at the market.

"Shut up Sam." He barked.

It still wasn't _that_ much food.

"Thank you for this meal, Dean." Castiel was looking better now, he had stopped shaking, and his eyes two shades brighter, panda eyes almost completely gone.

"How ya feeling, Castiel?" Sam asked between mouthfuls of rosemary baked potatoes.

He had found the recipe online.

"Shit, Dean." Sam looked up at him wide eyed, slops of potato falling of his fork onto his plate with a _plop._

He bit the inside of his cheek.

"If it's not good don't eat it-"

"It's delicious." Sam smiled, surprising him.

Dean shoved a spoonful of spinach rice into his mouth, hiding his own smile.

The rice had been tricky to get right.

"But back to my question, how are you?" Sam turned to Castiel, stabbing at the grilled asparagus now.

He had found that online too.

"Dean, holy fuck-" Sam swallowed the green spears, looking at him wide eyed, smoothing his hair back and out of the way.

Dean scratched the back of his neck, pulling at the tag in the back of his shirt.

"I thought you liked this green crap-"

"It's good, god, you're such a sensitive Nancy-"

"-So Castiel, status report."

Castiel shrunk in his seat, free hand absently rubbing at his face.

Sam pulled apart the garlic bread, steam rising between the butter and oregano.

" **Holy shit,** did you bake this from _scratch_?"

Couldn't Sam just _shut the fuck up._

"I am well now, Thank you both for your hospitality- it means a lot to me. I should be able to resume my position after dinner."

**A burning in his chest.**

    Sure, Castiel looked much better, his skin vibrant, and eyes dip-dying bluer as his grace replenished itself. He had stopped trembling too, shoulders steady and cheeks almost full. The Angel adjusted in his seat, pulling at the trench coat he refused to take off.

_The coat._

_-billowing out as he fell to the ground, eyes closing shut-_

He stabbed his fork into the grilled pineapple chicken and tossed it onto Castiel's plate.

"The room already reeks like you so just stay in there, okay." He rushed out, taking a bite of his fork and looking up at crack in the ceiling he really needed to fix.

_What the hell am I saying?_

The bread in Sam's mouth muffled his laughter.

**Damn it, Sam.**

Castiel bit his lips as his ears turned slightly pink.

"Dean, I assure you I am well. I do not want to burden you any further."

Dean ran a hand down his face as he groaned.

Sam bit down on a sauteed snow pea with a snap. Smiling.

_I'm going to regret this._

"You might prove useful to have in this hellhole, just, um-don't _fuck_ anything up while your geek-ing it out with Sam."

    Sam made confused noises behind bites of asparagus, and a look that said _did you just push your angel on to me? I thought you were going to fucking deal with this already you jerk._

He threw the Angel a wink.

Castiel snapped his head back to stare at the pineapple slowly sliding down the side of the chicken's glaze.

_What the fuck did I just do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, we have Cas in the bunker now.


	10. Peanut Butter and Jelly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyyyy, this took a bit to update, enjoy though :D
> 
> I really love writing Dean's conflicting emotions, he so idiotic.
> 
> Also, I noticed that some of my words get cut off when I transfer the chapters to the site, so bear with me if stuff changes because I wasn't totally aware of the problem before. 
> 
> Also thanks for all the support this story has been getting :D keeps me motivated. 
> 
> Have great days lovely people.

They really _were_ a bunch of geeks.

                Dean's knife scraped the sides of the plastic container, picking up the hard to reach globs in the corners, slathering the softer side of the toasted bread with the peanut butter, extra crunchy with maple syrup.

Sam's favorite.

" _No_ Castiel that _isn't_ how you do it-"

                Dean sighed as he heard the two idiots from his place at the counter, kitchen lights casting a soft ochre glow above him. He pulled up the grey robe as it threatened to fall off of his shoulder, jumping slightly as the toaster dinged up another two slices of bread.

Groaning when he saw the charcoal-tinged steam rising from the breads burnt edges.

"Is _this_ method preferable Sam?"

_Methods?_

What were they even _doing_ in there?

                His rough hands pried at the strawberry jam jar, it's cover stuck with hardened sugar along the edges. Pulling at the tin cap, he leveraged it between his elbow and pulled, gooey pieces flying everywhere with a _plop_ as the cap flew across the kitchen, hitting against the tiled wall with a **_clang_**. 

A smack of maroon jam landed onto his cheek, he darted his tongue out to lick away at the skin.

What was _he_ even doing in _here_.

                He pulled out a spoon from the drawer, and scooped out a generous amount of gelatinous jelly, the maroon shaking as he smeared it on the less burnt side of the bread. Bits of black charcoal flecks melding with strawberry.

"Sam- I do not understand the importance of these squares-"

So Castiel was helping Sam now.

"They are _post-its_ , Castiel."

There he was in the library, probably with those _damn bug eyes_ eagerly hanging off of Sam's every word.

Working with _Sam_ , researching with _Sam_ , helping _Sam._  

"Do they represent anything? Are they talismans?"

The cups on the drying rack rattled as his brothers laughter echoed through the air, drops of water falling from the curved ceramic handles.

                Dean pressed the bread slices face down together, hard between his palms, burnt brownish-maroon goo squeezing out of the crusts. He plopped the sandwich onto the plate below, the ceramic gently clinking against the silver tray beneath it.

                Dean moved towards the fridge, and pulling the stainless double doors apart. The cold light prickled his skin as he pushed Sam's vanilla-almond crunch yogurts to the side and reached back for the grapes.

"Why are there post-its on _everything_?"

                He could hear the damn trench coat shifting, fabric catching against the wooden seat, splintering. The Cockatoo was probably giving Sam that piercing gaze, that questioning head tilt, where his hair would fall into his eyes just _slightly._

                He switched on the faucet, fingers grazing each and every purple orb, working his way throughout the stem as lukewarm water ran past his knuckles, drowned the skin at his wrists, and stained the grey of his robe a shade darker at the elbows. Traces of purple dirt swirling down the drain.

"I thought it was of import, so I placed the yellow square of importance upon it."

Sam's laughter rang off the ceramic tiles, startled, Dean dropped the grapes, little orbs rolling off the counter's edge and onto the floor.

_You said he could help._

Dean bent down to pick up the fallen grapes from the floor, one by one.

He knew what he had _said_ , but having another _person_ in their home?  

Another _voice_ , another _body_ -

                He wasn't used to hearing another voice in the Bunker other than Sam, and every word Castiel _spoke_ , every _breath_ he took, Dean could _hear it_ throughout all corners of their home. Blasting in his ears, vibrating in his bones, brain swelling with pressure as the foreign small miniscule sounds got louder and louder-

It was giving Dean a slight headache.

                It was _strange_ , hearing a completely separate pair of steps pitter-pattering down the hallway every morning. Steps that he didn't know every _quirk_ of, every curl of the toe as they hit the tiled floors. Steps that he didn't know like _Sam's_ , that didn't have the tell-tale _drag_ of every third right step from his early morning grogginess, or the harsh intake of breath as he stubbed his toe on the _same_ corner of the door step into the kitchen every single time, cursing under his breath.

_You said for him to stay._

                He had, he did, but it was still _strange_ having to wake every morning and set an _extra_ plate down on the table, boil up an _extra_ egg. Strange to have to consider whether or not the Angel would be offended by the egg, until he realized that Angel's didn't even _lay_ eggs. _Strange_ to pour and set an extra mug of coffee. _Strange_ to have had to go into the storage closet and pull out _another_ chair for their kitchen table. _Strange_ to tell Sam to go and _wake_ someone _else_ other than one another to come to breakfast.

                It was _strange_ having to include _another whole person_ in the dynamic that Sam and him had set up, to accommodate and appropriate their daily rituals to include the Angel.

Their dynamic, their routine, carefully timed between coffee and donut runs from the Impala at 4 AM, crafted by Sam's silent snores, forged by the blood and sweat of hunts and barely there smiles.

But seeing Castiel's bed head, sticking out ebony and pointed from his skull, he couldn't help but feel their " _normal_ " was threatening to change with every extra plate, every extra mug, and every extra word that hung unsaid between the three of them.

It made him anxious.

Especially seeing how Sam didn't seem the least bit bothered.

                And why _wasn't_ Sam more distressed about this? Why was he so willing to accept this _Chicken_ into their home? even from the start? **Why**? Why wasn't he mad like a _normal_ teenager would be? Why didn't he feel like this sudden new life form was disrupting his life and **ruining** _everything_ like a _melodramatic_ little **girl**? Why couldn't _Sam_ act out too? Why was it _only_ Dean? Why didn't he-

He dropped the beads of purple down against the counter.

Was Sam _lonely_?

                Dean clutched at the counters edge, breaths harsh as he let the grapes slide back down to the ground, watching his fingers clench tighter at the swirling marble, nails scraping slightly against the stone, the veins around his knuckles weaving a tight lace of white on the freckled skin.

_Damn it, damn it all._

                He pushed himself off the counter, the belt of his robe catching on the drawer handle. He tugged at the fabric until it tore free, falling limply against his leg, and went to grab at the bag on the kitchen island. He pulled out the _organic_ carrots, plastic crinkling around his hands, and slammed the overly fancy vegetation harshly down on the cutting board.  

                Taking his knife he started to peel at the skin, moving the sharp ridges of the blade back and forth, thin orange slices flying all over the counter. Stray slivers hitting his cheeks. He then chopped the cleaned pieces into long strips and placed them on the silver tray, their edges flopping gently over into the grapes. The orange seemingly brighter against the dark purple.

Sam was _fine_. He _had_ to be.

Going over to the hanging wire basket in the corner, he grabbed two lemons out from the pile.

 _Sure_ they had move around a lot, but Dean had _always_ made it okay.

He popped the cover off the tupperware filled with left over spinach rice, squeezing it in on to the tray.

_Hadn't he?_

He halved the lemons, squeezing its juice over the rice, beads of white swelling up with the slight acidity.

And Sam had his _phone,_ the one Dean painstakingly paid for _unlimited texting_ every month so he could stay in touch with his friends, no matter how far they went.

But all those years moving from place to place, living out of motel rooms-

He went to the overhead drawer and pulled out two blue-glass cups.

Maybe Sam needed _more_.

He stared at the two cups.

  _Not enough._

He grabbed another glass.

_Three of them._

Grabbing the Apple Juice, he watched as the amber liquid filled up the glass, color fading to a marine green.

He caught his reflection against the silver of the tray, eyes cold against its surface.

Maybe he needed something _more_ than just his brother.

But **Castiel** , he didn't _know_ Sam, he wouldn't understand all the things that made Sam, _Sam_. He didn't know Sam's favorite type of peanut butter, or love for overly-priced weeds. He didn't know that Sam loved calm country music, and smoothies. He didn't-

_Fire burning at his insides, lava melting his skull, inflaming the skin at the base of his neck._

No, he **couldn't** , couldn't complain about the Angel _now_ , especially now when-

When it was all _his_ fault they were in this situation in the first place.

He watched his lower lip in the tray, distorting as he bit and tore at the flesh.

Groaning, he threaded his fingers through the burning coals of his scalp, clawing into the skin, burning his finger tips.

He didn't have a **damn clue** how to make this right.

Hands fell to the counter hopelessly, tracing patterns in the marble stone.

                Why was it only _him_ that felt that this was an intrusion on their sanctuary? The setup they had going on was working wasn't it? Sam was all-systems-go ready to enroll in the local high school by Fall, Dean was working odd jobs at the local garage to set up a college fund for him, they had enough food, and they _finally_ had a home-

And they had each other.

Wasn't that _enough_?

And now this _Angel_ , this **bird** who had flown into the picture, disrupting _all_ of Dean's plans, slapping his face with all the insecurities and weaknesses he had shoved deep down inside.

Why couldn't he have been _stronger_? What did Sam even _think_ , seeing his older brother, the person who was supposed to _care_  for him, _protect_ him,  be _saved_ by a _feathered freak_?

Sam had _laughed_ at him.

And _Castiel_ , he had-

He had gotten _sick_ because Dean was so damn _ashamed_.

                Dean didn't know how to feel, on one side he wanted to kick the bird to the curb, preserve what he had worked so hard to build with Sam, and the other was to ask _forgiveness_ , forgiveness for pushing the Angel who was only trying to do his _job_ to the point of _exhaustion_.

This wasn't a problem that was just going to go away with a salt-loaded shot gun and brute force.

                Dean shook his head and sighed, tightening the knot around his robe one more time and lifted the tray up, plates rattling and clinking together in his palms, as he moved towards the library. The marble floor was cold against his bare feet, the arches tingling with goose bumps, as he moved past the creaky bookcases, the light of layer of dust shifting slightly against the shelves.

                He looked at the Angel and the Geek sitting at the chestnut-mahogany table, the rustle and crinkle of papers shuffling against the wood as they made a note here and there, post-its falling to the floor gently, edges rippling, sticking onto the tables legs. Castiel looked up at Dean, his trench coat nearly covered in various colored squares along his arms and chest, black hair splayed as if he had been running his fingers through it absently in thought.

                Castiel broke his gaze away from Dean, smiling gently as Sam instructed him on where to place the post-it. The Angel removed the yellow square from the pad and smoothed the sticky side down meticulously on the paper with his index finger, immediately looking up towards Sam for approval.

_Coals searing._

Dean slammed the tray down on top of the papers and leather ledgers, metal clanging and dishes ringing, marine apple juice splashing onto one of three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, soaking the burnt edges to a muddy purple. He plucked a grape from the bowl, and plopped it into his mouth, the orb bursting with a bitter sweetness as he chewed, crushing the seeds between his back teeth.

Dean stared down at the heavy tray of food.

_What the hell was he doing?_

The warm lamp light reflected off the silver tray, and it was only when he saw the array of food on the desk between the paper and leather ledgers, did he suddenly realize he was acting like a damn _maid_.

He dug his fingers into his thighs.

" _Snacks_?"  Sam asked, eyes crinkling with amusement, a small smirk pulling from his dimples.

That little shit,he _knew_.

"Yeah, you idiots have been at it for hours, thought you'd be hungry."

Castiel then turned to the leather book, holding a blue square in his hands, the paper flittering back and forth as he tried to find room on the already yellow, green, and pink covered page.

The round cheeks framing the Angels face, vibrant with color, spilled a bucket of ice on the coals of his guilt. The soothing steam wrapping itself around him.

Dean glanced him over, smiling internally.

" _That's a lot_ of post-its, Angel."

Castiel looked up to him, eyes wide, a surreal amount of blue, no longer grey with the lack of grace flowing through his veins.

 A pink square fell off his arm to join the floors collection.

"There are a lot of important things in this book, Dean."

Dean couldn't help but feel amused, letting a small smile pull at his lips.

"You never made snacks for _me_ before." Sam smirked behind the peanut-butter jelly, taking a bite, hand cautiously hovering underneath to catch at the jelly before it fell onto his notes.

**Shut up Sam.**

"Yeah, well, um _Castiel_ , eat a sandwich."

He was met with those eyes again, head tilting, messy hair falling slightly as another green post-it fell to the floor beneath him.

"These are for me as well?"

That small voice.

_Boiling pain._

"Just eat it."

 Castiel picked up the sandwich, bringing it up with both hands to take a bite, maroon splattering his white collar slightly. His eyes went wide as he nodded his approval.

"Thank you for the food Dean." Castiel smiled, eyes cast down towards his lap, and Dean felt the guilt burn at him.

No amount of food was going to undo the damage.

Grabbing an overpriced carrot.

He _knew_ that.

But watching the two rummage through the books, talking about runes and werewolf lore, tearing through the library like there was no tomorrow. Seeing the _Angel_ help _Sam_.

 _His_ Sam.

_Thick green jelly poured into the blistering steaming holes. Green and red smoldering from the seams , wrapping itself around his heart and mind-_

He snapped the carrot in half, keratin staining his palm a deep tangerine.

Okay, so.

 Sam was usually _so_ protective of the library's things. The _minute_ they had arrived in the bunker, Sam had practically spun along the bookshelves, fingers pressing into the book spines, picking up the dust, mesmerized by it. He had smiled at Dean so widely, ran to him, wrapped his arms tight around his ribcage and _squeezed_. Dean had placed his hand on his brothers back, feeling the smile pressing into the buttons of his flannel.

And the unexpected harsh words booming against his chest.

**_"Don't you dare fuck any of these up."_ **

Dean had laughed, because _as if_ Dean would be caught reading some _dead bastards diary_. As if he would even _care_ enough to archive the shelves, and take notes on the 1958 style stationary. As if he would _want_ to geek out, and Sam had _never_ asked for _his_ help for such a thing and- and-

"So, Is there anything I can help you with? or does _birdbrain_ have it covered?"

Sam eyed him up, eyebrows furrowed questioningly.

Dean stared back, green eyes narrowed, and teeth pulling at his lip as he pressed the broken carrot to his mouth.

"You _never_ ask to help with research, you'd rather sync up Dark side of the Moon and Wizard of Oz for the _100th time,_ than help."

That _did_ sound like a good time.

**_Green jelly thick in his veins._ **

"Yeah, well, I-uh, it looks like you guys are rummaging through a lot."

Sam scratched as his neck, stretching it side to side, before moving back to the book in his hands.

"Yeah, the angel over here is helping me organize my notes in alphabetical order of importance." Sam smiled excitedly, plopping a grape into his lips.

Paint _drying_ was more enthralling.

Dean looked towards the Angel, carefully smoothing down another green post it on a square loaded page.

**_If the Flying Flamingo can do this, so can I._ **

  
"Well tell me what to do."

Sam scoffed, pushing one of the many ledgers towards him, leather sliding over the wood.

" _Alright_ , well if you want to _help_ , note everything with post-its, green is for _super important_ , blue is for _not so much_ , pink is for _we_ _could die if we don't know this_ , and yellow is for _regular important_."

"Got it."

Dean grabbed at the papers, eyeing them up.

**_Alright, I can do this, just some post-its over here, over there, and Caliginous and Intaglio- what the hell does that mean? and shit-_ **

Sam's scribbles were a blur of _blah, blah, blah._

He looked up to see Castiel carefully placing a blue square at the top of the page, tongue darting out of his mouth in concentration.

_Viridian pools, bubbling underneath the fire._

**_-No, I got this. Alright, yes, that seems important, um, wait- that seems important too. Where the hell do I place the post-it?_ **

Castiel carefully placed another yellow square down.

**_Fucking Hell._ **

He randomly placed a post-it.

Sam leaned over the table and snatched the book from Dean's hands, with a frustrated sigh. Dean gasped as drops of blood formed on his fingertips.

Sam had given him a paper cut.

"Dean if you aren't going to take this seriously-"

_"Dean!-"_

 Suddenly there were blue tendrils all over his palms, pushing and pulling, the feeling of a miniature lightening storm dancing over his palm, as the small slivers of a cut closed instantly.

_No, wait, fuck-_

Castiel was using his _grace_ , what if it was too much for him? What if he got sick again? _What if-_

Dean's worried eyes met Castiel's panicked ones.

_Well shit._

As if he didn't feel like enough of an asshole _before_.

" **Don't use your grace so carelessly**."

He twisted his wrist back and forth, feeling the remnants of grace sparking in his capillaries.

Dean quickly peered into the Angel's eyes, looking for any signs of the blue inside fading even the _slightest_ bit, had his grace been affected? Was he okay?-

 **"Then can you at least _try_ to be more careful."** Castiel barked, shifting in his seat, before roughly grabbing at the book and turning to Sam. Shifting uncomfortably before grabbing the notebook and gesturing towards Sam.

Dean swallowed thickly, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he looked away.

He really was a piece of shit.

"Sam, is-is this post-it position correct?"

"Uh- yeah."

                Here Dean was getting all _jealous_ over Castiel helping Sam, doing what Dean had _told_ him to do, and regardless of everything, _regardless_ of the fact that Castiel had _collapsed_ because of _Dean_ , the Angel had healed this _tiny_ injury, without even blinking.

_Ashes filling his lungs._

How was he going to make this _right_?

 Dean swallowed thickly as he watched the two flipping pages practically in sync, reaching for different colored post-its with such sure steady hands.

He awkwardly picked up one of the larger ledgers, opening a crisp yellow page as his eyes scanned the illegible chicken scratch.

He watched as Sam pointed something out to Castiel, him nodding and placing a square accordingly.

"Hey, Bird, try the grapes." Dean pushed the bowl of grapes towards him.

Castiel looked up from the book in his hand, nodding and plucking one of the purple orbs into his mouth.

"Thank you Dean."

Dean turned towards Sam, scribbling away at the pages.

"Sammy, the carrots are organic."

Without even looking up.

"That's **great** Dean."

The irritation dripping off the vowels, heavy on his hands as Dean tapped his fingers against the wood, leg bouncing up and down restlessly.

Maybe they were getting _bored_ , they couldn't do this _forever_. Maybe they wanted to watch a _movie_ or-

"Well-um-"

Sam slapped the book down, hazel eyes harsh.

"Dean, _please_ , we're trying to **work** here."

His chest dropped.

"Yeah, yeah of course." Chair screeching along the floor as he rose. "I'll just go."

Castiel looked up at Dean, a blue square falling off his shoulder and sticking onto the arm of the chair.

"Dean, do you require any assistance, or shall I remain with Sam?"

_Smoldering charred insides._

"Nah, I'm just gonna call it a night, stay with _nerd-boy-wonder_ here." Rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

Castiel nodded, turning back to the array of colored squares, and scribbles littering the table surface.

He could feel Sam's eyes burning holes into his robe, pulling the cotton belt taunt around his waist, cutting out his breath.

\---

Dean's hair melted into the beige pillow, golden frayed edges sticking up.

He stared at the chipping red brick above him, dust and loose rock falling onto his chest.

Fingers twitching.

He felt _left out._

Pulling the sheets taunt over him.

 _Useless_.

Feet meeting the cold air as he kicked off the blanket.

Chest rising and falling.

He pulled at his hair, silently groaning.

So Castiel was helping Sam, so what, Sam could use the extra help _anyway_ , God knows Dean was _useless_ with that sort of thing. _He knew that._ It's why he never really helped Sam with research anyway.

But Sam telling him to essentially leave?

Choosing the Angel's help over _his_?

It hurt.

But it wasn't like he could just throw Castiel out, wasn't just like he could make everything go back to normal and see Sam hovering over the ledgers _alone_ tomorrow morning.

And meanwhile his guilt was making him stuff Castiel like a damn _turkey,_ damn it.

As if that was going to fix anything.

Dean rolled back and forth in the bed, memory foam confused as to which shape to conform to.

Then there had been Hannah.

Dean had already been frustrated with the Angel, spacing out as he banged on the car, he had been hungry damn it and the Angel had been taking so damn long.

Which was odd for him, Castiel never hesitated to follow.

He should have noticed that.

He should have noticed Castiel's sudden withdrawal, how _careful_ and **tight** his movements were. The overly eager, **never** wavering in his stubbornness, fighting Dean on **everything** and bringing the wrath of his feral bird feelings at anybody who so dared to question his identity as an Angel, suddenly going **mute**.

It was odd.

Weren't these his _brothers and sisters_ though? Wouldn't he have felt _secure_ with them?

But the way Hannah hovered over their table, wings extending pure white, flight feathers casting shadowed patterns on their faces.

This had been _different_.

He groaned, pulling the sheets over his head.

She was a **bitch** , he should have seen that.

Her words, Castiel took them hit by hit, he hadn't even tried, no spark or snarl of the feral birdie.

He had already _surrendered_ to her the minute he had said _Hello_.

That pissed Dean off, why couldn't the Angel surrender to _him_ about _this_ , about _this whole bound-human-guardian-angel thing_ , but **no** -

That taunt grey skin, fallen on the pavement, burned at his insides, warmed up his sheets, pulled the duvet tight, suffocating him as he remember the grey outline on the monitor, falling harshly onto the ground.

The Angel had _collapsed_ because of him, and he had to make it _right_.

Undo the damage somehow.

He wrestled the covers off of him, jumping to the floor and walked towards the kitchen.

He needed a drink, maybe some whiskey to soothe the fire, blur his thoughts out.

Maybe he would actually get some sleep then.

He turned down the shadowed hallway, stepping onto the marble, cold seeping into his toes, and began making his way through the library when he froze.

                Nomadic hands lightly trailed against the edges of the bookcase, idly moving through the knotted air, heavy and humid, mahogany creaking against the demanding moisture seeping in as it always did on Summer nights, giving way for its invasion.

                The room was burnt by darkness, vision gritty and harsh against the senses, like roasted coffee grinds left to scold in their pot. Dust coated the wandering fingers a pewter mocha gray as they moved against the leather books, the softly shifting trench coat glazed sepia by the single lit lamp buzzing politely on the cedar desk. The scuff of rubber soles echoed against the tawny marble as a head tilted gently, black hair smoke against the edges of a white collar, eyes deep blue as they observed the book spines, lips whispering their titles gently against the saturated dark.   

**"Birdbrain, aren't you going to go to sleep?"**

Castiel jumped up, wide eyed and searing with recognition, gasping as he clutched his chest.

"Dean!"

Dean laughed lightly, walking towards Castiel, fingers picking at the new trails in the dust patterns along the shelves. Castiel's eyes casted downwards as he pulled his coat tight around him, shoulders peaking at the tan edges.

"Are you a _nocturnal bird_ or something? What are you doing?"

Castiel stared, before walking back to look at the books, latte shadows on cream skin as he stroked the books spine, embedded letters catching at his nails.

"The bunkers library, it has many books I've never seen, I was just curious."

"Doesn't Heaven have a library?" Dean peered through the dark, walking closer to Castiel, pulling at the grey robe to relieve the dampness forming on his skin.

"Yes, but I've read those books countless times, this is **exciting** and **new**. "

Trailing a finger through the sepia light.

" _'Pride and Prejudice', 'Sense and Sensibility', 'Grapes of Wrath'?_ " Curious blue eyes shimmered in the toffee light, and Dean's breathed in deeply, sipping at the damp air, warming his stomach, as Castiel's hand carefully pulled out a book. Examining each page thoroughly as he flipped each gently."They don't seem to be about any type of monster either Dean, _why is that_? Are they in-depth histories of a particular person? These are very peculiar studies."

"Those books are just fiction, they aren't real."

Castiel looked up at Dean, eyes squinting in confusion as he tilted his head.

"Aren't real? What do you mean?"

Dean absently started to make patterns in the shelf dust.

"They are just stories, they aren't about anything but themselves."

Castiel looked down at the book, searching through the words.

"About nothing?"  he whispered against the pages.

"Well, um" Grabbing the book out of Castiel's hand, " Take _'Sense and Sensibility_ ', it's a story about these two sisters, and they fall in love with these guys and get all heartbroken and crap and they fight with each other-" _Why am I explaining this_."-and I don't know!-doesn't _Heaven_ have anything like this?"

Castiel looked at him wide eyed, leaning over to look back at the book between them.

"Heaven doesn't even have cheeseburgers."

" _No way_ , and here I thought Heaven had everything."

Shadows on Castiel's face pulled and pushed into a small smile.

"So these sisters, they don't _exist_? they aren't _real_?"

"Well, _they are in the book_."

"I don't understand. What happens to the sisters? Do they end up with their beloveds? Do they-"

" Look. If you want to know, you can just take the books back to your room and read them."

"My...room?" Castiel held the book close to his chest, looking towards the marble floor, seeing both their dark reflections within the marble.

"Well yeah,"

"I thought you stationed me in the library?"

Dean smacked his palm face down onto the shelf, plumes of dust sprinkling down on their shoulders.

" I didn't station you anywhere, now go sleep in your room."

"But I thought that you wanted me to work with  Sam in the library and 'geek out'."

Castiel looked up.

Dean clenched his fists, dust vibrating off his shoulders, coming down like shooting stars within the milky sepia light, seemingly infinitely falling in the marbles reflection, stopping abruptly against its surface.

"So _what_ , you thought you were going to stay up straight for _weeks on end_ till you get **sick** _again_! _You just got better_!"

Castiel recoiled as Dean towered over him, the specks falling off the tan fabric and gravitating towards the books as he leaned into the shelves. Whispering against the foam of the humid air.

"You might need me Dean."

"You can't keep doing this to yourself."

"Dean, it's my job, I want to do well for you."

Dean felt the humidity claw at him, bones creaking at the intrusion, his bad knee snapping as the pressure between the cartilage released, vibrating within him to set the fire in his stomach. Acid boiling, searing his heart into a tight twisted mangled mess.

_I don't need you-_

_My fault-_

_Damn it-_

"I promise If I need you I will come wake you up." The words creaked in the air, moldy with age.

Dean hadn't said the words 'I need you' in the longest time.

Castiel looked up at Dean, blue searching and endless.

"What if you are in danger and can't call for me?"

"Were in a warded bunker, nothings coming in."

Dean smirked.

"Now go to sleep."

Castiel nodded, going to slot the Jane Austen back into place, when  Dean's hand gently touched his shoulder. The small unexpected flinch vibrating against the leather volumes.

He really didn't like that flinch.

"It's okay, take the book with you."

Castiel nodded, body going from a sharp sepia to a faded gray as he disappeared into the dark hallway.

Dean listened as his light shuffles echoed further and further down the dark hallway, leather loafers creaking against the tiles.

The clink of his coats belt trailing along the ceramic tiles.

Dean sighed, the guilt burning inside him.

He stared at the lamps ember.

"How do I fix this?"

He asked the steaming darkness, before reaching over to switch off the lamp. Buzz of electricity fading to reveal silence.

\---

Castiel closed the door softly behind him.

Clutching the leather _book-that-didn't-mean-anything_ to his chest.

Staring at the four brick walls, the bed indented in the center by the weight and form of his body.

The desk in the corner, small chair pulled in.

The lamp on the bedside table.

He carefully toed his shoes off, and made the first step towards the bed. White socks staining wine with fallen brick dust.

Laid down, not bothering to pull the covers over himself, coat spilling over the mattress sides.

Staring at the ceiling above him.

The word dancing on his tongue.

_Mine._

He smiled, flipping himself over onto his stomach, propped up on his elbows, before leaning over to flip _his_ lamp on.

Castiel opened the book careful not to crease the leather spine and allowed himself this small happiness, opening the _book-that-wasn't-real-but-was._

_The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex-_


End file.
